Blurred
by Alaska Steele
Summary: Hermione Granger purposely separates herself from her remaining best friend, Ron Weasley, after the end of the Second War, and exiles herself to Muggle London until she wishes to return to the Wizarding world. She couldn't guess who would bring her back.
1. Prologue: Saying Goodbye

Prologue 

Saying Goodbye

The train pulled up behind us, belching steam. I turned from watching it stop and looked at my best friend, standing there and looking about as lost as I felt. His warm brown eyes looked into mine and he gave a weak smile. "Guess this is it," he said, and swallowed, hard, lifting a hand to push his flaming red hair out of his face.

"Yeah," I echoed, "guess it is." I glanced behind me at the train and then back to Ron and I smiled a little through the tears welling in my eyes. I could tell by the flashes of pain in his face that he was remembering, too. I thought back to fighting the Death Eaters with him, barely a month ago, and then again a year ago, and a year before that. How brave he'd been when, descending into the Department of Mysteries, he'd looked over at me and we'd exchanged that grim, strong look, knowing what we were getting into. How we'd both then glanced at Harry, paler than usual and trembling with rage and fear. The look said that we were doing this for him.

Only a year before we'd almost lost him, our Harry, to Voldemort when he'd risen again. Harry was so strong, but felt so much. Thinking of him was painful. Those memories were flooded out by the seas of the ones of Ron, too. In first year, when they'd saved me from that wretched troll; in second year, when I'd been petrified, and they'd figured out how to save the school; in third year, when Harry found his Godfather, when Ron and me's friendship was almost destroyed because my cat supposedly killed Scabbers…well, not Scabbers, the blood traitor whose life was the reason that Harry's parents, and now Godfather, were dead.

So I smiled at him through my tears and he pulled me into his strong embrace. I buried my face in his shoulder, biting my lip to keep the sobs inside. I had to leave. There was no other way. I had to leave. Harry and Voldemort were both dead, and Ron and I had not left one another's sides since that fatal day, but we needed to learn to live without one another again, for a while at least. We'd become so dependent that it would kill us one day if we didn't stop it.

The second war was over, but that didn't mean that there weren't battles left to fight.

After a long moment, he released me, and wiped away the single tear that ran over my cheek. "I'll write," he promised. "You'd better, too, you hear?"

I smiled. "Of course. 'Bye, Ron."

He squeezed my hand once, and let it go. "'Bye, Hermione."

Our eyes met one last time, in which the same glance was exchanged as the one we'd shared when descending into the Department of Mysteries all those years ago. _Be strong…for Harry._

Then I stepped onto the train, and he was gone.

Deep in the darkness of a self-afflicted night, Draco Malfoy was leaving his life behind, too, but there was no one there to see him off. There was a bitter smile on his face when he stepped aboard the train, not the same smirk that had been so carefully in place since he'd been born.

_Well, I've done my part in this godforsaken war, haven't I? _he told himself as he gripped the handle of his bag. _I'm done._


	2. Unpredicted Encounter

Chapter One 

Unpredicted Encounter

She was sitting on the curb of the street next to the park. It was in the early morning fog of London that she sat hidden, her arms curled around her knees, looking down at the street. After a full two years of isolation from the wizarding world, it was a wonder she had survived. That world had been her life. She could go back, but not now. Not yet. She wasn't ready. So she sat thus in the early morning fog of London, thinking and turning things over softly in her mind, examining what lay hidden under the rocks that hadn't been moved in so long.

When I heard footsteps, I didn't even turn. They were light, quiet, but there was something heavy about them, too. I heard them stop, heard the sharp but soft hiss of surprise, and then felt them resume once more. Finally, he was standing next to me, and then he sat down on the curb about a foot away from where I turned over the smooth stones, watching the water race by under my feet.

He examined her when she didn't look at him. It was Granger, all right. Three years hadn't changed much about her; she had been seventeen, the last he'd seen of her, a year before she left the wizarding world for a while. Her hair was slightly softer, but still wavy and curly and wild, and her form was a slim as always, and as short. She was wearing Muggle clothes – dark blue jeans, and a plain grey t-shirt, her wavy hair pulled half back from her face, stray strands escaping and being tugged gently by the wind. Of course she wore no makeup; her skin was slightly paler than a few years ago, her lips a light pink, her brows dark. He couldn't see her brown eyes as they focused on the pavement below her, but he could see the remarkable sadness in her face. That was the most prominent change, the sadness. It blurred her features and made the bookworm seem older, wiser, more disheartened and weary than ever before.

"Granger," he finally said, his tone raw with antipathy.

"Malfoy," I returned with equally quiet resentment.

"Fancy meeting you here, of all places," he said, almost to himself. "Not so grand and powerful and brilliant anymore, are you?"

I was just silent. After all, while Harry and Ron had risen to the bait, I'd always been tugging at their arms, pleading with them to hold back, that Draco Malfoy would never be worth it. Suddenly a memory flooded my mind, and for a moment I remembered a time years past, Draco Malfoy turned into the amazing bouncing ferret, and the ghost of a smile twitched my lip.

"What the bloody hell are you smiling about?" he demanded, looking at me.

"Nothing," I said, pushing a strand of hair back from my face. "Just remembering how great you looked as the amazing bouncing ferret, that's all."

To my surprise, he didn't have any snappy comeback. He just snorted and said, "And to think it was a Death Eater that was doing that to me. If I'd have known…"

"Yes, well," I said idly, "none of us knew, did we? Until he almost killed…" There was a sudden lump in my throat, remembering. _Oh, Harry_, a sad voice said inside me, and I shook my head.

"Potter," Malfoy finished for me, and I nodded, looking away.

"He didn't die in vain, you know," he said quietly a moment later, and I nearly jumped; I'd forgotten he was there. "He was a real prat in my opinion, but he took the Dark…Voldemort…" he shuddered. "…with him, and you can't imagine how insanely terrible that monster was."

I just looked at him. Wondering what had happened to Draco Malfoy. Wondering what had happened to my worst enemy, aside from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Wondering where the boy had gone that had made my life a living Hell, at least in our early years. We would never be friends, but at the moment, he didn't seem like the world's biggest prick anymore. He seemed like a sad, crumpled _human_. I suddenly realized how out-of-place he looked without a dark cloak wrapped around his shoulders, without the green Slytherin House crest emblazoned on his clothes. He was dressed as a Muggle, too, but wearing long sleeves, I noticed. _Covering up that old Dark Mark, _I thought, glancing away.

He suddenly yanked up his left sleeve and shoved his arm under my nose. "There," he said brusquely. "Happy?"

I covered my mouth with my hand. "M-malfoy," I whispered.

The Dark Mark was constantly seething, blood oozing from it randomly. There was a ragged piece of linen wrapped around it, trying to defy the constant flow of blood from the wound. "Yes, Granger?" he said icily.

His eyes met mine defiantly, blazing hatred in the cool grey. "I…" I stammered. "I…I'm sorry."

He yanked down his sleeve and looked away, brooding moodily as he looked into the distance. "So am I," he said bitterly. "You know, you three didn't make my life a day at the beach, either. You were always getting the highest scores, Potter was always performing some miraculous rescue, and Weaslebee…he was good a Quidditch, once he got over his fear of people watching him play."

My temper flared. "And you think I appreciated my teeth growing past my collar?"

"Yeah?" he snapped, getting to his feet. If he'd been wearing the traditional wizarding cloak, it would have had a powerful effect, but it didn't, as he was wearing Muggle clothes. "And what other terrible things did I do to you? It's not like I got your father thrown in Azkaban or anything."

"He was a Death Eater, Malfoy. And you did plenty of damage to us, if I recall correctly. Helping Rita Skeeter. Making our lives a living Hell with taunts and rumours and lies."

He just glared at me. "And you think you had it so bad? You had the entire school except for the Slytherins to back you up. You completely outnumbered us, constantly."

"How about breaking Harry's nose?" I demanded. "And…trying to kill…"

And suddenly my eyes filled with tears and I was looking down and away, anything to avoid that pale grey gaze that said he loathed me just the same as always. "Dumbledore," I finished in a whisper, wiping my eyes on my sleeve.

"Isn't this goddamn mark proof enough that I changed?" he snarled, shoving his arm in front of me again, and I pushed it away. Dumbledore's kind face appeared in my mind; the twinkling blue eyes, the long, silver-white hair, the half-moon spectacles, and that incredible wisdom, all flooded my mind with the overpowering memories of the greatest wizard who ever lived, and the greatest who ever died. I remembered that night so vividly, fighting alongside Ron against Death Eaters as our home, our castle, our Hogwarts was put under attack, and then…Malfoy and Snape…and Harry had had to watch it…the funeral, after all, had been bad enough…

"Granger," Malfoy snapped. "Have you ever felt the Crucio Curse? Have you ever felt the pain it causes? My goddamn sorry louse of a father was in Azkaban – I was given an assignment to kill Dumbledore, or die myself after being tortured for days on end – my mother would die, too, in a matter of time – and you expected me not to go through with it, when I had the chance?"

"But you _didn't_," I said weakly. "Snape finished it for you."

"Proof, then, that I really am on your side? The world isn't divided into black and white, Granger, and I thought your bushy bookworm head could see that."

I looked up into his pale, blazing eyes, and nodded without really feeling any strength. "Stop," I said quietly. "I get it, alright?"

For a moment we stood there in silence, staring into one another's eyes, and finally, he looked away. "See you around, Granger," he said shortly, and started to walk away. He'd vanished into the fog by the time I thought of a question.

"Malfoy, wait," I called. I heard his footsteps stop. "Why are you here? Why aren't you with our world?"

He was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I did my part. I was done." And then he was gone.


	3. Going Back

Chapter Two 

Going Back

"Come in," I called in response to the door, "it's open!" I was expecting my neighbor, Rosemary, a writer who liked to drink a cup of tea with me in the morning. She claimed that I "inspired" her.

It was a surprise, then, when I walked out of the bathroom, still a little wet from my shower and a towel wrapped around me, to see Draco Malfoy, or all people, shutting the door behind him. "Malfoy!" I half-squealed, half-snarled. "You could have warned me!"

He threw me a bemused, ill-looking smirk. "Sorry, Granger, couldn't resist; for old time's sake, you know." I had seen him only a handful of times since our chance encounter a month ago; when we accidentally met, we passed each other with nothing but a curt nod. He looked to be in a foul, sarcastic mood and threw himself onto the couch, pointedly looking away from me. I slipped back into the bathroom and tackled my hair, wrestling a comb through it.

"What do you want, anyway?" I called to him.

"They want us to come back." His words were raw with bitterness.

For a moment I just stood there. Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, at the sad woman who looked back at me, the mist on the mirror fazing the edges of her form slightly. She reached out to the surface of the mirror and brushed away the clouds that hung around her. I walked out of the bathroom to look at him; I realized, for the first time, that he was wearing wizard's robes again, a black traveling cloak edged in shades of green. His pale grey eyes looked angry, bitter, hard. "What do you mean?" I asked slowly, not believing what he'd said.

"Damn it, Granger," he swore, standing up in a rustle of his black cloak. "They're calling it the Third War."

"Against _whom_?" I demanded.

"Some crazy bloke who thinks he can be Voldemort," Malfoy spat, sitting again.

"Oh, honestly! We're not the only ones who survived, you know, and by no means the most experienced." Roughly, I started raking the comb through my hair again as I paced. "They could have gone to Lupin…Mad-Eye…Tonks…Shacklebolt…any of the Aurors! They don't need…and what on Earth are you looking at me like that for?" I snapped, whirling around and glaring at him.

His face hadn't softened, but his voice and his pale grey eyes had. "It wouldn't be so bad if you were a bit more gentle," he said quietly. "Your hair, I mean."

"This is a really spiffing time to discuss my hair," I said crossly, folding my arms across my chest.

"It is," he said, glaring right back, "because it will calm you down, at least for now, and the last thing I need is trying to deal with a hysterical female."

I didn't even have time to make one of the customary _You did not just _noises before I was saying, "And how on Earth would you know _anything _about hair?"

"My mother," he said simply, and I looked away, feeling my face redden. Narcissa had died in that final battle. "She brushed it every night. Do you have a brush?"

I cast him a suspicious look and went into the bathroom, rummaging for the brush I knew was there somewhere. I couldn't have known he was watching me.

He could see, in the mirror, that when she bent slightly her collarbone showed through her pale skin, creating a fine, hard ridge that would stop anything. Droplets of water still hung on her bare shoulders, and her hair was drying. She didn't look so much like a Mudblood anymore. She looked like a powerful, young, brilliant witch, and a very sad one at that. He had very little tolerance for thinking like that, though, and he looked away. It wasn't indecent, really; the towel covered her down to her knees and only exposed her bare shoulders, and she definitely did seem uneasy with him around like this, but he doubted that now she remembered anything about wanting to change, not with thinking of going back to a life they'd both deserted – he supposedly permanently, she supposedly temporarily. As always, she'd been right.

Cautiously, I emerged from the bathroom with the found brush, never used. He had resumed his typical haughty expression, but said, "Now, seriously, Granger, no wonder it's always so bushy. Just go _slowly_."

Apparently I did it wrong, because he gave a resigned sigh and said, "Come here," and nodded to the spot on the couch next to him. _My _couch. Anger flared up inside of me, but I wrestled it down and joined him on the couch. He touched my shoulders and turned me so I was facing away from him, then took the brush from my hands. First, with a gentleness that surprised me, he worked his fingers through my hair, patiently untangling the knots, and muttered something about split ends before muttering a few words of magic, and I felt small pieces of my hair be snipped away from the ends. Then he slowly put the brush through it, separating the curls until they fell around my shoulders in gentle, very far from bushy waves.

Surprised, I turned my head slightly; I could see his hand, working through my hair. "You're good at that," I said, my voice considerably softer.

"I watched my mother do it a thousand times when I was younger," he said, and his voice had softened, too. It was strange; I'd never heard Malfoy's voice the way it was now; usually it was full of accusation, deceit, sarcasm, hatred, loathing, never gentility. I couldn't believe the change the softness had wrought in his sound; suddenly, his voice was lighter, less heavy, just above a whisper as he spoke. "Father would always be away, and I'd sit by her feet near the fireplace every night, just to be near her." I heard the sadness in his voice and nearly turned to comfort him, but then a voice shouted in my mind, _Hermione! This is Draco Malfoy! Honestly!_

Something else kept me from turning, too. I knew that if I turned around, I would see something that I didn't want to see; it would be a Malfoy whose sadness was plain on his features, and that would make him so much harder to hate. It was getting harder already, just hearing the pain in his voice right now.

"I miss her," he said finally, and I felt the brush pause in my hair a moment.

"Well, we have something in common after all, then," I said, looking straight ahead of me and thinking of Harry, what he'd say to see me sitting here, in only a towel, with Draco Malfoy – _Draco Malfoy _– brushing my hair. He would have had the ghost of a smile twitch his lip. I thought of what Dumbledore would say, too, how I was sure he'd be so glad to see a little bit of house unity after having been gone from Hogwarts for so many years.

"Really." Was that a genuine smile I heard in Malfoy's voice? "And what would that be?"

"We both lost someone we loved in that war," I said, quietly. "We should honour their memory by fighting this one. Right?"

"The typical Hermione Granger talk of unity and honour and valour," he said sarcastically. "I knew I'd hear it soon." I turned back to face him, and he sighed heavily, glancing down. It struck me then how very unlike his father he looked. He was so far from stoic, even though he tried so hard not to show it. While Lucius's features had been arrogant with pride, Draco's were almost delicate with anger and hauteur. Surprisingly, it made a big difference. "I'll be by at six sharp tomorrow." He stood, his cloak rustling.

"Where will we go?" I asked, standing as well.

"Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix," he responded, already on his way to the door. "Oh, and Hermione…we'll be arriving together, so do make yourself presentable, won't you?" As if to make a point, he handed the brush back to me and Disapparated, his haughty expression already back in place.

It was when I was in the bathroom, running my fingers through my newly tailored locks of hair, that I whispered aloud in surprised, "You called me Hermione."


	4. Painted Wings

Chapter Three 

Painted Wings

As I brushed out my hair the next morning, marvelling at the change that Malfoy – _Draco Malfoy – _had been able to wring out of it, the drifting of music came through my bathroom wall. Rosemary was playing music again. I listened closely. It wasn't the Beatles, surprisingly enough; it was a song from the soundtrack of Anastasia, a Muggle film that had come out when I was much younger. I smiled to myself as I remembered how I'd twirled around my room, singing to that song. The music strengthened, just a bit, and I whispered the words along with Anastasia for a stanza.

Then I smiled and slipped into a plaid grey skirt, a white blouse un-tucked around it, all the buttons except the top two done up, and the bit of a white camisole showing underneath. Around my neck was the necklace that my father had given me long ago, when I'd been accepted to Hogwarts; it had a small silver pendant on the long chain, a delicate snowflake in an intricate pattern that I'd loved to look at when I was younger. I slipped on my black cloak over that and performed a small spell with my wand to take the dust off. I hadn't dressed as a witch in so very long. Briefly, I looked at myself in the mirror; the change was incredible. I looked, amazingly, _happier_.

The music had swelled to a crescendo, and I sang along this time. Just as the song trailed off to a finish, a familiar voice filtered into the bathroom.

"What on Earth, Granger?" I heard Malfoy's voice say, and looked up to see him looking at me through the mirror, the shock already fading from his grey eyes to see me dressed as a witch again.

"Yes, Malfoy?" I answered coolly, doing my hair up so that it was half back, but my fingers fumbled with the catch. "Don't stand there and be useless!" I said in exasperation. "Come here and help me!"

In one fluid motion, he was behind me, snapping the clip in place, and then stepping back. "Ready?"

I nodded, forcing a swallow past the lump in my throat. With a crack, we both Disapparated, to appear outside the Headquarters that I'd known since I was fifteen. _Five years, _I realized suddenly, and then #12 Grimmauld Place appeared as I thought of it, and Draco Malfoy and I were walking through the door together. I almost expected Sirius to come dashing out to shout at his Pureblood mother to shut up; I half-expected to see Ron smiling on the stairs, ready to greet me and argue about something else; I nearly anticipated Harry coming in behind me, furious but pleased; I tried not to look forward to seeing half the people I thought of, because of course, we'd suffered casualties in the Second War.

The one person I did see was Ron, coming down the stairs – not his gangly, fifteen-year-old self, but a solid bulk of man, twenty years old, haggard and worn but very much alive. He saw me, and his face split into a grin, and then I was running until the foot of the stairs and the middle Weasley came to meet me; then I was in his embrace, laughing softly into his shoulder as he hugged me. Finally, he let me go. "Oh, bloody hell, Hermione, it's good to see you," he said in relief, smiling at me.

"You too, Ron," I said, stepping back from him. He glanced over my shoulder and nodded, surprisingly civilly, to Malfoy.

"Malfoy."

Malfoy jerked his chin up slightly and brought it down just as quickly; it was a gesture that I well remembered from him. "Weasley."

"Mum's been waiting forever for you two to show up," Ron told me as we began the walk to the kitchens. To my disapproval, the house-elf heads were still on the walls. "She barely slept a wink last night. The entire Order's back together, except…well, you know. Luna and Neville are here, too, and Ginny. Fred and George as well; even Bill and Charlie have managed to make it."

"How can we still use _this _as Headquarters?" I asked warily.

"Well, Harry didn't exactly have time to write a will," Ron said slowly, "so it passed down to the next Pureblood in the family."

"_Malfoy_?" I turned to look at him, but he just shrugged and glanced away.

"Luckily he's on our side," Ron mumbled, so that Malfoy wouldn't hear, and I had to smile; then Ron was pushing open the door to the kitchen, and all the chattering quieted a bit.

"Hermione!" a number of voices chorused, and suddenly I was being embraced by the entire Weasley family, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Mr. and Mrs., too. When they moved aside, Nymphdora Tonks Lupin embraced me, too; she'd quieted down since the war, and her hair was a light, pretty brown, draping around her heart-shaped face, and her clothing had become a bit more sensible as well. She smiled at me and then pulled the man behind her forward; I received a shock. Remus Lupin had greyed a great deal since I'd first met him in my third year of school, and something told me that the full moon wasn't that far off. When he leaned down to hug me, I whispered in his ear, "You don't need to be here, Professor; it's almost full moon."

He smiled at me, a smile that changed his face, made him look ten years younger, and I knew how Tonks had fallen in love with him. "It's the reunitation of the Order, I couldn't miss it," he said, and then added, "And it's not Professor anymore; you're twenty, call me Remus." He then moved off so that Mad-Eye could shake my hand, as well as Shacklebolt and several other of the Order whom had been active in the last War. The last person to step forward was Severus Snape.

For that brief moment, I was face-to-face, eye-to-eye, with the man who had murdered Professor Dumbledore, and I couldn't tear my gaze away from the blackness of his eyes, the haughty pride in his features. "Professor," I said softly, keeping my anger in check.

"Miss Granger," he returned, and then turned to Malfoy to shake his former pupil's hand. "How are you, Draco?"

"Well enough," Malfoy returned, but the two didn't get time to speak after that. The meeting with the reunited Order began, and once again, we were at war.


	5. Back in the Habit

Chapter 4

Back in the Habit

I glared across the table at Malfoy. "No," I snapped. "Absolutely not. Spies aren't of any use to us this time. The enemy doesn't seem to have any tactic, and to use Ron, of all people…he's too noticeable…"

"I'll agree with you there, Hermione," Lupin sighed tiredly, "but on the other hand, a spy would still be useful. Just not Ron."

"I could go," Tonks volunteered, with a sideways glance at Lupin.

"You most certainly will _not_," her husband snapped, for a moment looking quite like the werewolf he was. "You'll be risking _two _lives, love; save yourself for another time." She made a face at him, but when Remus's fingers spread across her stomach, she conceded defeat, and shrugged at me, as though to say, _Well, I tried._

"I agree, Remus; it would be foolish to send Nymphadora when she carries another life," Kingsley Shacklebolt said in his deep voice. "There must be another."

I felt, suddenly, the feeling that one feels when you know you are being watched; sure enough, I turned, and Snape was looking at me, a queer sort of smirk on his lips. "It wouldn't be so hard to disguise Miss Granger," he suggested.

"Hermione?" Ron croaked, his face turning grave before my eyes, aging him five years at least.

Lupin looked deeply troubled. "Severus, she's still rather young. And we will need her around here; she's already proven useful in the scheming of plots and plans…"

I sat quietly, thinking, mulling over Snape's preposition in my mind. On one hand it was smart; I would be best at understanding the information, and I'd become rather good at Legilimency in the past few years; unless this new enemy was another who was excellent at Legilimency, like Voldemort had been – which I highly doubted – I would have very little trouble.

"Yes, Severus, she is rather young," Arthur Weasley said, a troubled frown creasing his brow. "It would really be terrible to lose…"

"Arthur," Tonks said quietly. "Let Hermione think for herself. I wasn't much older than her when I joined the Order, after all, and she's a great deal less clumsy – and more useful – than I was."

In turning to look at her, I caught Malfoy's eye. His haughty expression wasn't so flawless at the moment. I looked at Tonks and came to my decision. "I'll do it," I said, very softly.

Everyone managed to look relieved and worried at the same time; Ron's grip on my arm tightened just noticeably.

"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously.

I nodded again, more firmly this time. "Absolutely."

"We'll leave you with Severus, then," Lupin said; at his words everyone stood except for Snape and I. "Best of luck, Hermione." His wishes were echoed around the room, and slowly it emptied out.

Snape called to Malfoy as he approached the door, "No, Draco, you stay here; we'll have a use for you." Malfoy doubled back and joined us. The room was empty; Ron, the last one out, had closed the door behind him after a soft word of luck to me. I raised my eyes to look at Snape and Malfoy; the latter seemed unsure as to why he was there, but was maintaining his dignified aura. "Now, Miss Granger," Snape said, not looking at me. "Spying is not easy. There are always risks, the most dangerous one of which is the threat of being discovered." He finally looked at me. "We shall test your mind power first. Ready?"

I nodded, never taking my eyes from his. "_Legilimens,_" he hissed, and suddenly I felt it, the ramming prod of breaking and entering, and I threw up my barriers, my safety, determined to keep him from my most delicate memories, and the darkest, the most painful.

We battled like this for some time. He never made entry. Finally, tight lipped, he gave a short nod of assent and the attack immediately stopped. "Mr. Malfoy," Snape addressed his former student. "You are more familiar with the Unforgivable Curses than I am. The Cruciatus Curse, if you please."

I glanced at Malfoy, thinking bitterly that he would rather enjoy this, but I received a shock when my eyes touched on his; the pale grey looked a little afraid, and his face had turned chalk-white. Snape, seeing Malfoy's hesitation, snapped, "Draco. Now."

He raised his wand and I braced myself; "Crucio!" he cried, and I buckled, my lips sealed together to keep from crying out, as the white-hot pain surged through me; I resisted with all my might the urge to whimper, to so much as gasp, even though my insides were surely being ripped apart…

The pain, rather abruptly, stopped. Malfoy was even whiter than before; the curse had sapped a great deal of his strength. He avoided my eyes when I managed, painfully, to straighten up. Snape, despite himself, looked the tiniest bit impressed. "Very well, Miss Granger, very well…Draco, the Imperious Curse."

He didn't hesitate this time, but as my mind was wiped blissfully blank, I caught the last of his trail of thoughts: _Granger, forgive me…_

Then came the first order: _Bow._

_Don't think so, _said that tinny voice at the back of my head. I felt woozy, lightheaded, but clung to that sane thought, expanded on it.

_Bow._

_No, _the voice said, a little more firmly, and I felt myself lock into place; the water above my head was growing thinner. _Absolutely not._

_Bow! Now!_

The voice sounded angry, but I could see sunlight, just barely. _No!_

_Climb onto the table, then!_

_Why? _I was getting even closer; soon, I would breathe again.

_Do it._

_No! I won't!_

I broke the surface, gasping slightly, and quickly calmed my breathing. Malfoy had looked away again, lowering his wand. Snap gave me a curt nod and said, "Let's see how well your mind power is after all that…_Legilimens!_"

_No warning, _I had time to think in stun, and then my memories were accessed; the worst night of my life lay before me, and I was throwing up my mental barriers, pushing him out, getting him away. I came out of the nightmare panting slightly.

Snape was glaring at me. "Practice, Granger, you'll need it," he snarled. "But at least you have proved more adept at Legilimency than Mr. Potter."

I froze; a strong feeling was poisoning me, so thick and boiling that it felt like acid. "Don't you dare," I said quietly, "speak of Harry that way."

Snape had frozen, too; maybe he knew he'd made a mistake. "However sorry we all are for Mr. Potter's death, that does not mean that we may bury his faults."

"Yes, that's all you ever saw about him, wasn't it, _Professor_?" I said coldly; something inside me had snapped. "Someone who had too many faults for you to even consider tolerating, a person that you thought was the living reincarnation of his father; James and Harry blended together in your mind, Snape. You never knew which was which. Harry never deserved what you did to him, what you are still doing to him." I glared into the black eyes with all my might. "You hated him, and he couldn't understand why. He was just like you in some ways; he wasn't popular, either, you know. Your house made life a living Hell for him. And you know that you never cared. You scorned his Godfather, and his parents; you never gave him a chance to rise above their mistakes. And that, Severus Snape, was _your _biggest mistake of all." Smartly, I turned on my heel and left the room, letting the door bang closed behind me.

I walked slowly and laboriously up the stairs, ready to take a nap before trying to Disapparate, my thoughts aching and spinning and never slowing as that night, that terrible night, came flooding back into my mind. I'd been so certain that it had to be a nightmare, as I fought Death Eaters to keep my own life.

As I sat down on my old bed, I put my head in my hands, remembering suddenly the thought that Malfoy hadn't intended me to hear: _Granger, forgive me…_

"Why?" I asked aloud. Had those thoughts been in his mind since first year? Was the emotion those cold grey eyes sometimes revealed…actually _regret_?

"Granger."

I looked up at him, hastily wiping away the tears that had been ready to spill from pain and confusion. Draco Malfoy looked awkward, standing in that doorway, as though he had no idea why he was there, but he seemed strangely graceful at the same time, his eyes sparkling with exhaustion and his face suddenly flushed, not quite so pale as before. His hand rested lightly on the doorframe, fingers absentmindedly stroking the wood. I met his eyes unwillingly, for it had been he who tortured Harry Potter the most. "Yes?" I said, my voice oddly cold.

He seemed to hesitate, looking out the window that was behind me. Then he said, "Are you Apparating back?"

"I'm going to rest first," I said shortly, swinging my legs up onto the bed to make the point that he should get going. "I'll splinch myself if I go now. You should probably take a breather, too, you look pale as death."

He leaned against the doorway, not looking at me. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?" he said, smirking to himself, but there was something uneasy about the smirk.

"No," I said, quietly and truthfully, but I didn't look at him. "I wouldn't."

He was silent for a long while. When I finally looked up again, he wasn't looking at me anymore, just staring at the doorframe opposite him, his gaze unfocused and blank. Just as it had been hard to hate him when he reminisced about his mother, it was hard to hate him when he looked so remarkably _lost_. "Malfoy, you really do need to rest," I prompted quietly. "Using those curses is exhausting."

He didn't appear to hear me. Frowning, I got up and walked over to him. His eyes had closed; he looked oddly torn, as though contemplating some major issue. "Draco," I said softly, "are you awake?"

There was no answer. I shook my head, managing a slight smile, and levitated him over to the far bed. I lay down on the other bed, shutting my eyes tight to keep the unreasonable tears at bay as my mind turned again to that night, and the loss of my best friend. I was finally drifting when I heard him mutter, "You called me Draco."

When I looked over at him, though, he was already lost in his dreamland, and softly, muffling my cries with the musty pillow, I followed him into sleep.


	6. Into the Enemy's Midst

Chapter Five

Into the Enemy's Midst

A week later, I left 12 Grimmauld Place with my fist inside my cloak, clenched around my trusted wand, with the silent, hopeful "farewells" and "good lucks" trailing along after me. I wasn't too worried; I had already contacted someone who was quite certainly the enemy and I was meeting them far from here. As 12 Grimmauld Place shrank behind me, I turned on my heel, with a loud, resounding _crack_, I Disapparated.

I reappeared again at the fringes of a moor at almost the exact time my contact did. I didn't like him at all; he was weak-minded but powerfully built physically, and his eyes raked over my body as though with x-ray vision. I forced myself not to squirm. Then he grunted and yanked a cloth out of his pocket, swiftly spelling it for absolute darkness before tying it around my eyes.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, my voice quavering with forced fright.

"Just until we know you're trustworthy," he grunted, and then gripped my arm as we again Disapparated.

I forced my pounding heart to calm when we arrived, knowing, as he shoved my along a winding road, exactly where I was going, exactly whom I would see. "Where are you taking me?" I whispered, still unable to see.

There was the sound of a door opening and I was shoved through; after what felt like an age's walk through a winding, unpredictable building, there was another door that I was pushed through. I swallowed hard past a lump in my throat, forcing my mind blank as I felt the cloth around my eyes being clumsily undone. "Well, Blacnell?" a soft, silky voice said. "What have you caught today?"

I opened my eyes to find myself gazing into a face quite unlike Voldemort's; the man – yes, I was certain he was mortal – was perhaps in his mid- to late-thirties, with black, intelligent, probing eyes and pale skin, but not chalk-white, as Voldemort had been. He was very tall, about six inches north of six feet, and his blacker-than-night hair fell gracefully around his delicately chiseled features.

"She seemed a good choice, my Lord – a good head about her."

The man had eyes only for me; unlike Blacnell, he didn't look over my body, and I knew that he was searching for an opening to my mind. "Yes, Blacnell, you are dismissed," he said softly; his voice moved through the air like the finest silk. "You will receive your reward later."

Blacnell scuttled from the room, shutting the door behind him. The man slowly circled me once, and then leaned down to look into my eyes. "Tell me, child, do you know who I am?"

My voice quavered with the proper fear. "Yes, my…my Lord," I stammered out.

"Very good," he murmured, "very good. And do you know why you are here?"

I swallowed again and gained control of my voice. "To join you," I whispered, my voice barely audible; I did not look away from him. I felt him poking and prodding around my mind and let him see the non-incriminating memories – studying in the library at Hogwarts, going home on holidays to the Muggle world…

"Muggle-born; what a coincidence," he said, smiling almost indulgently. "So am I."

"Well, that was a surprise; even Voldemort had at least been half-blood. I just nodded, trying not to be too afraid, because I was afraid…I was terribly afraid, of being discovered, of betraying the Order on accident. For once, Snape had been right; spying was a tricky business. "You would be of use," he said softly. "I have few very trusted followers; their minds are weak, I cannot confide in them. You, however…so accomplished with spells and Legilimency…I believe I can trust you?"

Relief surged through me; I was safe. "Absolutely, my Lord," I answered, my voice quavering slightly.

He leaned down to my ear and murmured, "My name is Lord Verloren. And yours?"

So here it was, my first lie; I prayed fervently that it would not be my last. "Lily, my Lord," I said. "Lily Terran."

"Very well, Lily Terran," he said, and gripped my arm for a moment before releasing it. "Will you receive my Mark?"

"Yes," I managed.

"Kneel."

I knelt before him, feeling far from powerful. He lifted my right hand and cradled it in both of his, then reached for his wand and traced a shape on my palm, and then traced the shape again on his own. "Your wand."

Silently, I handed it to him, now fighting to keep from trembling. He murmured something, and our wands crossed, the tip of mine touching his palm, the tip of his touching mine. "Do you, Lily Terran, solemnly swear that you will forever remain loyal to me?"

I spoke clearly, my voice betraying none of my fear. "Yes, my Lord, I do."

"And do you forever promise to regard my life as your own, and yours as mine?"

"Yes, my Lord, I do."

Finally, his other hand gripped my left arm and he set me on my feet again. "And do you swear that you will do my bidding and my will for as long as I live?"

I swallowed once more, hard. "Yes, my Lord, I do."

Thin bands of black and purple light wound around our wands and our hands, where our fingertips touched; then they vanished into our skin. It reminded me of the Unbreakable Vow, though this was slightly different. I looked down at the shape now etched in my palm; it was a very simple drawing, a black, four-pointed star, with points of purple light forever moving in rotation around it. "If you ever need speak with me," he said softly, "touch your palm with your wand and say, _Verloren._ With the bond we now share, you can talk to me from the greatest distance imaginable." His eyes once again met mine. "We shall speak again tomorrow. Until then, Lily Terran, you are dismissed."

Trembling with exhaustion and fear, I Disapparated outside the building, appearing once again just outside 12 Grimmauld Place. With a feeling of intense relief, I walked to the front door as it appeared, opened it, and the instant my feet touched on the inside, I felt safe again. Three people – one I expected, two I had not – were waiting for me as the door clicked softly shut behind me.


	7. Homecoming

Chapter Six 

Homecoming

"You're alive," Ron said in relief, leaning back against the banister shakily when he saw me.

"Of course I am," I scoffed, burying the trembling fear that still threatened to overwhelm me, and turned to look at Malfoy and Snape, both of whom were also standing in the foyer. I avoided Snape's eyes – however good at Legilimency I was, I wasn't going to risk letting him pry while I was this weak – and then glanced at Malfoy, who still looked chalk-white. When I met his eyes, to my surprise, he forced a smile and then glanced away.

"What is his Mark?" Snape asked, moving forward.

Wordlessly, I held out my right palm and whispered, "_Reveal_." The black star appeared, the purple points moving around it steadily.

"Can anyone aside from you do that?" Ron asked as he stared at my palm, moving closer to get a clear look at the new Mark.

"I don't know," I said. "How about one of you try?" I suggested.

Malfoy cleared his throat, stepped forward, and placed the tip of his wand on my palm. "_Reveal_," he murmured.

For a few seconds, it looked as though nothing had happened. Then, suddenly, Malfoy staggered backward, panting slightly as he grasped for something to hold onto. His eyes rolled up into his head; not even really thinking about what I was doing, I rushed to him, grabbing his arm to hold him upright. "Malfoy," I said sharply, right in his ear. "Are you alright?"

There was no response except for a faint moan; when I glanced back at Snape, he had gone even more ashen than usual. Ron, too, almost despite himself, looked somewhat worried. "Someone help me," I snapped, buckling under Malfoy's weight.

Ron rushed to my aide, grabbing Malfoy's other arm. "Where…?"

"Front room," I panted, "on the couch would be best." We heaved him toward the door. Snape fluidly moved out of our way. Ron let go of Malfoy as soon as we reached the couch; the former Slytherin leaned heavily on me, and I managed to set him down on the couch. I knelt beside him. "Malfoy," I said quietly, "can you hear me?"

There was no response, none at all. I felt worry clench my heart and buried it swiftly. "Professor," I called to Snape, "do you know what this is?"

Snape had left, however; Ron went after him to see where he'd gone. I glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly midnight; I'd met Blacnell over three hours ago. I rubbed my eyes tiredly and then turned my attention back to Malfoy. He didn't look right at all; his skin had gone an even more pasty white. Gently, hesitantly, I touched his hand and then gripped it in my own, realizing how strange it was that I was sitting here keeping watch over my former enemy, actually worried for his health.

The minutes ticked by; Ron came back to say that Snape was brewing a counter-potion and hadn't said much except to get out. He left again, seemingly unable to bear being in the same room with Malfoy even when he was obviously hurt in some way, and I was alone with the unconscious Slytherin.

More minutes trickled out, then hours. It was three in the morning, and I was nearly drifting to sleep, when suddenly Malfoy's eyes flickered open.

"Granger?" he asked, his voice hoarse, his pale grey eyes struggling to focus on me.

"Malfoy," I said, fighting the relief out of my voice. "Do you know what happened?"

For a moment he didn't answer her, just looking up at the concern in her eyes that she couldn't hide like the concern in her face. He felt his hand in hers and wondered if this was how low he'd sank, coming to such terms with a Mudblood like her; more and more now, though, there was something inside him that fought the term "Mudblood" and resented using it. Her hair fell over her pale face and he realized how tired she looked; it must have been a hard night for her, and yet here she was, sitting up with him, keeping watch. The clock ticked loudly, and he realized it was past three a.m. He struggled to sit upright and she let go of his hand.

"How long have I been out?"

"About three hours," I answered, glad that he remembered what had happened. "How are you feeling?"

He looked at me with a peculiar expression on his face. "I remembered a lot of things," he said slowly, resting his back against the couch's arm.

"What things?" I asked cautiously, unsure as to whether or not I really wanted to hear this.

"Being turned into a ferret; torturing you, Ron, and Harry at school; losing the House Cup, and the Quidditch Cup; being beaten by my father; having the chance to murder Dumbledore; fighting that final battle; losing my mother; leaving the wizarding world, supposedly for good; meeting up with you again; coming back…" He shook his head, then rubbed his temples, leaning forward so that I could not see his face. "It was a lot to remember, in three hours," he whispered, and it struck me how weak his voice sounded.

Hesitantly, I reached out to touch his arm. "It would have driven most people insane," I muttered, trying to sound soothing. "That was Lord Verloren's intention. You survived."

When he looked up at me, I nearly reeled back in shock; those cold, grey eyes looked so vulnerable, so hurt, so lost that I didn't know what I could say, what I could do, to comfort my enemy. "I survived, Granger," he said softly, "but how many times will I have to go through it again?"

"Snape's brewing a counter-potion right now," I said firmly. "You'll never have to go through it again."

He looked almost warily at my palm and then forced himself to his feet; I followed and nearly fell over, and to my surprise, he caught me. His face was inches from mine in that moment, and when my eyes met his, I realized that through the vulnerability, concern was showing. "Looks like we've both had a rough night."

I nodded, exhausted, glad for his arm as support, for I was certain that I would not be able to stand on my own. We both sat down again, side by side on the couch, and he suddenly said in a low, strained voice, "It was almost too much to bear. Remembering all that. Lord Verloren knows what he's doing, doesn't he." It wasn't a question.

I nodded weakly again. "He does."

We sat in silence for another moment, and then I felt Malfoy tremble with weakness next to me; almost of its own accord, my hand reached out to touch his. His voice was forced when he said, "Don't even touch me, Granger, you…"

But the words "filthy Mudblood" didn't make it past his lips this time. Instead, his hand was wrapping tightly around mine, and I was pulling him towards me; my arms wrapped around him and he wasn't fighting, instead getting closer, and in all his vulnerability in that moment, his forehead pressed to my chest and he didn't cry, but I felt him shaking against me, felt his heart racing.

In that moment, I could no longer find it in me to hate Draco Malfoy. He was lost, and alone, and a pitiful remainder of the person he'd once prided himself for being; I couldn't hate someone like that. I hated myself for it, but I stroked his hair and tried to help him through that night, even though I knew that he would never admit needing help. He was a Malfoy, and that could never change.


	8. Remembering

Chapter Seven 

Remembering

I woke in the darkness of the front room of 12 Grimmauld Place, slightly disoriented and wondering how I'd gotten on the couch. Then the memories of the night before came flooding back, and I turned my head slightly, expecting to feel the resistance of Malfoy's chest there to stop me, but it wasn't there.

I sat up immediately, my heart pounding as I realized that I didn't feel another heart beating against my own. Shakily, I lay back down. He was gone. Of course he was gone. How could I have expected otherwise? Tears were welling in my eyes for some reason – from anger at myself for caring, from anger at him for making me this vulnerable, from fear of knowing what I'd done, the position I'd put myself in…

I pulled a pillow toward me; it was then that I noticed that my cloak was draped over me, keeping me warm in place of the warmth of a living body. It was then that the tears overwhelmed me, and I buried my face in the pillow, crying softly until I suddenly heard a low, strained voice saying, "'Mione, it's alright, you're safe…"

I knew that it wasn't Malfoy, knew that it was Ron instead, my best friend, trying to comfort me in what I was convinced was the darkest time I had ever known; I didn't know why I cared so much. He was pulling me into his arms, and I sobbed into his chest, unable to think, unable to feel anything but the most excruciating pain, and he was saying softly, "Hermione, it's alright…it's going to be okay…"

I cried myself out in his arms, glad that, at least, my best friend would always be here; my best friend would never leave me.

_I tried calming him, to no avail; he was shaking so hard, whimpering almost, more vulnerable than I would have ever, in my wildest dreams, imagined him being. "You don't know what it's like," he said weakly, "to remember the father that beat you, and is now dead, the mother who loved you but couldn't protect you, who was killed because of you…"_

_"I know what it's like to feel pain," I muttered, staring over his head. "Do you know how many times I've relived that nightmare of a night, knowing that I'd never wake up in time to save him?" I nearly felt myself choke at the thought of Harry. "Everyone feels pain, Malfoy."_

_"Pain?" he croaked. "I thought this was Hell."_

_When we were pulled by some invisible force into a trembling embrace, we didn't fight it; I fell asleep in his arms once his breathing had calmed and I knew that he, too, was asleep._

_Draco Malfoy woke up with a start when he felt something shift against him. Immediately the memories of a couple of hours before came flooding back, followed, not far behind, by the sensations he felt now; Hermione Granger's body nestled against him, her small form crumpled with exhaustion and deep in sleep, her hands and his intertwined, his face against her shoulder blade, her hair against his cheek. He moved easily away, not disturbing her, to get out of this mess they'd both suddenly created; he wanted to laugh and rage at himself for letting it happen. _The Lion and the Snake, not enemies? _he scoffed to himself. _That will happen, sure, when there are no wars left to fight, when the world comes to an end. _He hesitated, though, when he looked at her frail form, slumping now with her back against the couch cushions, her feet stretched out toward the end but not quite reaching the opposite arm. She looked cold. He hesitated a moment longer, and then took her cloak from the armchair she'd flung it on and draped it over her. She didn't wake, shifting only slightly when his hands brushed her skin. He stood there a moment, and then, not knowing why he said it, he whispered aloud, "I'm sorry," and then left the room, already determined to forget everything about the night._

When I got my crying under control, I looked up at Ron, wiping the tears from my face. "Did Malfoy make it home?" I asked him, my voice hollow.

He nodded uncertainly. "Snape gave him the potion, he took it, and he left. Didn't say a word the whole time." He looked closely at me. "What happened? Is this because of what happened with Lord Verloren last night?"

"Oh, Ron," I said weakly. "I can't even explain right now, I don't know how."

His expression was faintly bemused. "If you say so, Hermione. You'd better get home and get some real sleep; it's almost six in the morning."

"Right," I said distantly, standing up and pulling my cloak around me; I tried to ignore the scent that was still on it, the smell that I now associated with Malfoy, like mint and chocolate mixed together, such a pleasant smell for such a snake. I turned on my heel and Disapparated with a loud _crack_, appearing back inside my small flat.

This wasn't home anymore, I realized suddenly. The problem was that I didn't know where home was. I fell into bed with my cloak still on and cried myself to sleep, unsure why, or for whom, I was crying; but just as my mind touched on dreamland, Draco Malfoy's vulnerable face appeared in my mind when that smell filled my nose again, and I found myself thinking again of how it wasn't a smell I'd have ever associated with him…but then again, last night he hadn't been such a snake…last night he'd been a vulnerable wreck of a man, and very human…

I slipped into dreams where he was always in the shadows, and somehow, no matter how hard I tried to reach him, I could never quite touch him.

"Draco," I heard myself murmur, and then I was gone.

Someone was banging on my door. I moaned slightly and rolled over, immediately blinded by the sunlight coming through the window. "Granger!" I heard a voice yelling.

"Just a minute," I mumbled, swinging my legs out of bed. I felt terrible. _This must be what a hangover feels like_, I thought blindly as I groped for a fresh change of clothes, yanking them on and straightening them only slightly. Hurriedly I ran a brush through my hair, imagining Malfoy standing out there, fuming as he waited on me. He'd be in a foul mood this morning. I knew that for certain.

When I finally opened the door, he was, sure enough, glaring; I immediately avoided his eyes. "Let's go," he said shortly; we both turned on our heels and Disapparated, back to 12 Grimmauld Place.

Mrs. Weasley greeted us when we walked in the door. She looked at me and then turned to Lupin, standing just behind her with Tonks. "Remus, she can't go back there today," she said quietly. "She's exhausted."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley, really," I said, putting on a brave face. "I have to go, anyway. I'm being called." I held out my right palm for all of them to see. Tonks's eyes met mine and I saw the horrified look in them, and the sympathy. The symbol was glowing there, stronger than ever, and I felt it by the slight warmth in my palm.

Mrs. Weasley, too, looked absolutely horrified. "This is too much," she said softly.

"I'll be fine, but I'd better go before I strain his mercy," I said in as strong a voice as I could muster. "I'll be back here soon, hopefully with a report." With that I turned on my heel and walked out the door, and Disapparated, appearing outside the building I'd been taken to the other day. Blacnell was waiting there. He grunted and jerked his head toward the door; I followed him inside, to a different room than I'd been in before, a kind of study that glowed with polished wood and graceful books peering down from their shelves. Blacnell left me there.

A few minutes later, just as I was examining the bookshelves, Lord Verloren glided easefully into the study through a different door. He glanced at me and smiled warmly. "Lily. I see you've already gotten used to our system of summoning."

I felt braver than I had yesterday and replied, "Yes, my Lord, I think it's rather convenient."

"It's a complicated charm, but it does serve its function," he said thoughtfully. "It's better than the Mark that Lord Voldemort left on his followers…I hear that the Mark is a bloody mess to have right now…"

"It is, my Lord. A close friend of mine has the Mark, and it bleeds constantly." What a lie. Close friend, indeed.

"Just like Voldemort, to take down his followers when he fell. You need fear nothing of the sort from me. It's inconvenient to waste so much power on such a small detail like that."

I nodded in agreement.

"Now, then, Lily," he said, sitting down behind his desk. "Come and talk with me, and I shall show you my grand plan and your place in it…"


	9. Forbidden

Chapter Eight 

Forbidden

I stumbled into 12 Grimmauld Place that night, barely awake. I very nearly fell over the doorstep, staggering as though drunk, when a warm voice said, "None of that, now," and there was an arm to cling to. The door shut behind me, and I closed my eyes for a moment when the lights came on; they were too bright, too painful to bear. "Hermione," that voice said again, "are you alright?"

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to look into Remus Lupin's warm, kind face and nodded.

Just looking at his former student nearly sapped all of his strength. Her face was suddenly haggard, worn; she had obviously been through a rough day. It looked as though she could barely keep her eyes open, but already she was straightening up, fighting off her exhaustion. She looked terribly troubled. He wondered, briefly, what it was that their enemy had asked her to do. "I'm fine," she said firmly, even though she looked far from fine.

"Hermione?" a hesitant voice said, and I turned to see Ron, standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking in concern at me. "Are you alright?"

I nodded firmly, trying to dispel my sense of worry. "I'm alright. Is most of the Order here? I have news."

Lupin nodded, and the three of us walked to the kitchen; by the looks of it, most of the Order was still there, including Snape. For a moment I met his eyes across the room and then looked away. I didn't want to do what he had done, but now I was given no choice. The room fell quiet when we walked in; the door banged shut behind us, sounding terribly ominous.

From all over the room, the Order silently assembled at the long kitchen table, and I sat down, too, next to Ron and across from Malfoy, who was glaring in the opposite direction, apparently still miffed about the night before. The night before…it seemed like an eternity ago by now.

As soon as they had finished seating themselves, I began to speak.

"It's worse than we thought."

Just that one sentence was greeted by sounds of unease and unrest; Lupin shushed them all and it was quiet again.

"Lord Verloren has a very strong tactic built up, as it would happen. His one mistake that I can see is that it will all fall if he falls. He has far too few trusted advisors, and even I don't know all of his plans. If we managed to kill him, the organization falls with him into chaos. I believe he's mortal…from what I can gather from his mind it seems as though he himself has killed few people…"

"We're dealing with a mortal," Tonks said in relief, leaning back in her chair. "That makes things so much less complicated."

I raised a hand. "I agree, he is not Voldemort," I said softly, and saw, out of the corner of my eye, Malfoy twitch slightly at the name. "But he may be worse."

This sentiment was greeted by something much less than enthusiastic. "How so?" Mad-Eye grunted. "He's mortal, isn't he? Has he got many followers?"

I shook my head. "It's not that. It's that he's mortal is what I'm worried about. It's like he doesn't feel threatened at all. He seems so completely at ease; when he's mulling over his plans it's almost as if he's a child playing a board game. It's as though he doesn't consider us opposition at all. And he knew, strangely enough, that the Order was back together. I mentioned that we might be a problem and he waved it off, saying we needn't worry about the Order." I looked down at my hands.

"That's where you come in, isn't it," Malfoy said bitterly.

I was silent a moment. It seemed that the whole room was holding its breath. "He wants me to spy," I said slowly. "On the Order."

"I thought he didn't consider us a threat," Mr. Weasley said mildly, though he looked worried.

"As long as he knows what's going on, he doesn't consider us a threat," I said softly. "He's not going for the grand affect like Voldemort did; he's going for subtly, for stealth, for sowing fear in the Wizarding world and the Muggle world before we even know what we're afraid of. You know the kind…the steps you think you hear on the stairs at night…the unexplained murders in the newspapers…the freak disappearance of Ministry members…the collapsing of new Muggle technology…the destruction of things we take for granted…it's all about fear with him, even more than it was with Voldemort."

My news was greeted with silence. "Do you know what his first strike is going to be?" Snape asked then, his voice quiet.

I looked up from my hands to stare into the blackness of his eyes. "Yes," I mumbled.

"Well?" Ron prompted. I noted that his face had gone very pale.

"Big Ben," I muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. "He's going to collapse the clock tower at twelve noon. Tomorrow."

I sat down in the darkness of my old bedroom, not bothering to light a lamp. The dim light from the hallway was enough. I pulled a pillow to my chest and squeezed it tight, bracing my forehead against it as I turned the stone over and over in my mind, looking for a way to fix this terrible mess. The murmuring, subdued voices of the Order drifted up from downstairs, and for a moment I let my mind sweep blank, but only for a minute. Then I replaced the pillow and looked up, blinking slightly, to see something glittering on the bedside table.

For a moment I stared at it, frowning, listening carefully for the sound of anyone approaching. Then I reached out and pulled it toward me. It was a black, leather-bound book of some sort, and the lock on it was what was glittering. The lock, however, was undone. Curious, I opened it to the front cover. In dark green ink, in the top left-hand corner, was written in oddly slanting script, _Draco Malfoy._

I froze, frowning even harder. Then my curiosity overwhelmed me; I turned to the first page.

_I left the Wizarding world today._

_It was easier than I'd expected it to be. I had nothing left, anyway. With both Father and Mother dead…the war over and nothing left to fight…it wasn't like I exactly had a life there anymore or anything._

I flipped through several more entries, spaced few and far between over the past couple of years, and found one that was dated from a couple of months ago.

_I ran into Hermione Granger today._

_She doesn't seem to have changed much except that she looked tired. I heard that she left our world, too, after Potter died. She was dressed in Muggle clothing, anyway. Somehow she was quicker to argue than usual now, too, as though she's just been waiting for someone to dig her claws into. Lucky for her it was me she ran into. We have excuses to argue with one another. Since when have Gryffindor and Slytherin _not _argued with each other? It's a _law_. They used to be best mates and all that about a thousand years ago, but it didn't end so well, did it?_

The next entry was far longer.

_I went to tell Granger today that we had to go back to the Wizarding world and rejoin the Order, that there was a Third War. I expected her not to like it or anything, but I thought she'd be _glad _for an excuse to finally come back. I certainly wasn't, I can tell you that much._

_I don't even know what happened while I was there. All of a sudden I realized after I Apparated away that I'd called her by her first name. I nearly splinched myself when I realized what had happened. How could I have possibly let that slip? I've called her Granger, filthy Mudblood since we walked through the doors of Hogwarts. Having to come back to my world is unhinging me. Next thing you know they'll send me to some Muggle psychiatrist._

I stuffed my fist into my mouth to keep from laughing. The next entry sobered me up a great deal. He'd crossed each starting point out for some reason. I read through the lines.

I don't know what's going on. I was injured by the Mark Granger received and she What just happened? I spent the night sleeping on a couch with a filthy 

_What am I doing or thinking lately? I don't even know where to_

_It's forbidden, what I've just done, what I've just allowed to_

Finally I came to a point where the words weren't crossed out.

_I don't know what happened or why I feel so shaky. I can't believe I let myself be so vulnerable in front of _her_, in front of that filthy…_

_I don't understand why she didn't gloat. She's above that, I'll bet she thinks. Well, I'll show her. That's the last time I let something like _that _happen_.

I closed the book with a sickened feeling in my stomach. I didn't need to read anymore of that. I replaced it on the bedside table, and just in time; suddenly, there were footsteps on the stairs. I threw myself across the bed and closed my eyes, trying to breathe deeply.

The footsteps paused outside the open door. I cursed myself for not having closed it. "Granger."

Malfoy.

I lifted my head and looked at him, trying to discern his features. The hauteur wasn't in place. He looked almost as he had the night before, but a bit stronger, a bit more unwilling to let anything out. "What do you want, Malfoy?" I asked coldly, purposely turning away from him to glare at the wall opposite me.

I felt him hesitate, and then he walked inside the room and sat down on the bed. I glanced at him in surprise. He wasn't looking at me, choosing to stare at his hands instead. They were shaking.

"Malfoy, what?" I asked again, my voice not so cold this time.

He looked up at me. "You weren't supposed to be a double spy," he said in a low, strained face. "Aren't you afraid?"

I shook my head, leaning back against the headboard. "I don't have anything to be afraid of anymore. I survived the last war; I'm sure I'll make it through this one."

"Gryffindor through and through," he said bitterly.

I shrugged. "They share more traits in common than you'd guess, Slytherin and Gryffindor."

"The Lion and the Snake, have something in common?" he scoffed. "You must be joking."

"They used to be best friends, you know."

"Yeah? And?"

"So they were both incurably stubborn. As you've just demonstrated most excellently."

He jerked his head up and stared into my eyes for a moment. For some reason, I felt my heart almost skip a beat. "Did you," he said in a low voice, "just call me _stubborn_? What about you, Granger? Has there ever been a time when you've backed down from a challenge? You're pretty stubborn, too, if I may say so myself."

I glared at him. It sounded like he was hiding a smirk behind his voice. "I'm sure you could name one if you tried," I said coolly.

"I'm not so sure about that," he said casually.

"Demonstrating again how excellently stubborn you are, Malfoy."

His face flushed, incredibly, and he fired back, "You're demonstrating it yourself, Granger."

"_Shut up, Malfoy_!"

"Now, why on Earth would I do that?" he remarked. "You didn't used to rise to the bait so easily when we were in school."

"Yeah, well, maybe I've changed," I said shortly. "As I recall, you wouldn't dare let a conversation with a Mudblood like me run this long. Even if it was an argument…"

"Don't say that."

I glanced up. His face looked slightly stricken. "What? Mudblood? You used to delight in calling me that."

He cringed. "And so maybe I was wrong."

I stared at him in amazement. "Well, this is a revelation," I said, sitting up, taking my back away from the headboard. "Draco Malfoy, admitting that he is wrong."

"Yes, well, weren't you always the one who went around believing anything is possible?" he said irritably.

"I've really seen it all now."

"Dammit, Granger, can you let it go?"

I shook my head, smiling now. How I enjoyed toying with people's minds. "It's so fun to torment people."

"You understand my position, then."

What I realized about his position was that, somehow, he was closer to me than before. My heart raced. "Remember last night?" I asked quietly.

He started, anger flaring up in his eyes. "What about it?"

Softly, I said, "You don't have to be afraid of being vulnerable. Everyone knows pain, Malfoy. Everyone. You don't have to lock it inside. And just because I was in Gryffindor doesn't mean that we have to be enemies forever."

He was leaning forward, and so was I; even as he whispered, "Shut up, Granger, just shut up," his face was so close to mine that I could see every sparkle in his grey eyes, and then his hand was coming around to cradle the back of my head and our lips, very suddenly, met.

All I was aware of was sinking slowly back onto the bed as he kissed me, my arms around his neck, his hand cradling my head and his other arm around my waist. Then, just as abruptly, it was over, and there were footsteps coming up the stairs. He broke away from me as suddenly as we'd come together, threw me a glance, and said bitterly, "The Lion and the Snake, friends? That's forbidden."

With a loud _crack_, he Disapparated, leaving me sitting there, stunned, listening to the footsteps coming up the stairs.


	10. Twisted and Evil

Chapter Nine 

Twisted and Evil

I blinked when Ron appeared in the doorway. Still, I was far too stunned to even think. My brain could not form a single sentence; it seemed that it was stuttering "Malfoy –" "Draco –" "Impossible" "I'm dreaming"…over and over again.

Ron looked at me in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," I managed to stammer, and got shakily to my feet. I noticed, distantly, that Malfoy's book or diary or whatever you so wish to call it had Apparated with him. "I-I've just realized something."

And I had. Yes, indeed, my brain was working again. "Stop the Order from leaving," I said forcefully. "There's something we haven't considered."

He threw me a worried, bemused glance and backed out of the room, calling to the Order to reconvene because I had something to say. I heard grumbling and worn-out noises, but then I straightened my robes and walked down the stairs, standing on the bottom step so that I could see everyone.

Then I said softly, "You can't increase guards on the clock tower tomorrow."

There were several uneasy noises that issued from the crowd then. "Why the bloody hell not?" Ron demanded, looking up at me.

I didn't answer, and I didn't need to. After ten seconds, Snape did for me. "Isn't it obvious, Mr. Weasley?" he asked coldly. "This is a test. Lord Verloren is trying to see if he can trust Hermione."

"We'll sacrifice dozens of lives if we don't prevent that attack," Mr. Weasley said worriedly.

"And we'll give away Miss Granger – and the entire Order – if we do," Snape replied icily. "If we must sacrifice dozens of lives, so be it. We cannot risk giving away the Order. If we fall, who is to stop him?"

They were all silent following Snape's speech. Finally, Fred Weasley put forward, "What can we do? There must be another way."

They all looked to me. I cursed silently under my breath. I didn't know. I couldn't tell Verloren to put off this major event; it was his first _big attack_, and he would christen me blood traitor if I so much as uttered a word in favor of the plan's demise. But there had to be some way…

"If I was to…" I frowned harder.

"_There is nothing we can do._" Snape's forceful tone rang out over us, and with it descended the gloom that I'd so long associated with his dungeon classroom. "Nothing, do you hear me? Absolutely nothing."

And so, forlorn, tired, and weary, we made our separate ways. Snape and I were the last out of 12 Grimmauld Place. He gave me a curt nod, said, "Miss Granger," and Disapparated.

I, however, shrugged on my cloak and hunched my shoulders forward. I was going to mull over this on the long walk home, even if it killed me.

* * *

The rambling tunes of The Beatles were coming through my bedroom wall, "Eleanor Rigby" by the sounds of it. "Enough," I moaned, rolling over and banging a feeble fist against the wall. "_Enough, Rosemary Raven, I tell you, if you play that depressing music one more time…_"

She didn't hear me, of course. It's rather hard to hear a half-asleep person banging their fists against the wall of an apartment when you're a writer going at full steam listening to both your typewriter (out of date) and your Beatles #1 Album (even more so in some peoples' opinions). I groaned and tossed the blankets off, then did my best to roll out of bed, succeeding in landing with a soft _thump_ on the floor, in a miserable heap from the sleepless night that I had endured. Slowly, I got to my feet. My joints creaked from the miles I'd walked the night before. I got dressed and was just finishing my hair when my palm began to feel warm again.

Highly irritated, I opened my clenched fist. There it was; the mark that I'd been branded with was showing up on my skin, the black star shining the blackest black and the purple pinpoints moving even more quickly around it than before.

Sighing, I yanked on my black cloak, concentrated hard on the image of Lord Verloren, turned on my heel, and Disapparated.

I appeared right at the edge of a roof, affording me an immediate view of the _very _long fall to the street. I yelped and stumbled, and was halfway over the edge when a pair of strong hands caught me and pulled me back from the edge. A voice I was coming to recognize and loathe said, "Faithful servant, you are safe." I willingly followed where his hands took me, if only to get away from the edge of the building; then I discovered that I had been towed right into Lord Verloren's arms.

The immediate reaction my body had in store was to stiffen, to shove him away; more immediate was my mind's jumble of thoughts, most of them involving Malfoy in some way, until I got control over them and my body and just stood there, shocked from the near death experience and from the surprising gentleness of my supposed Lord's embrace.

Then his hand pointed past me to Big Ben, which was clearly visible from the roof on which we stood. "All is well," he said softly. "There is no increased guard on the clock; they aren't suspecting a thing. Order of the Phoenix, indeed." He snorted delicately. I decided not to look at the clock anymore; I felt sick when I did. Instead I contented myself – bitterly, angrily – to twisting Verloren's emotions as far as I could make them go. I turned my head to that my cheek rested against his chest, against a surprisingly soft cloak. He didn't move to shove me away, which I would have liked him to do so very much, but this was proof that he was human; if he could lust, he was not entirely hardened.

"Have you made contact with the Order yet?" he asked, almost idly, now distractedly twirling a strand of my hair in his hand. The hair that Malfoy had brushed. I tried very hard to keep from gagging.

"Not yet, my Lord," I answered. "They are wary."

"Of course, of course…but when I next call, you will be part of their ranks."

I swallowed, hard. "Yes, my Lord."

"Clever girl," he murmured; I felt his voice vibrate in his chest and shoved away the thoughts of the night I'd spent in Malfoy's arms, and of last night, when I'd been even closer than this to him. "You know what to do."

"Always, my Lord."

"They will fear me," he said softly, suddenly, grimly, and Big Ben struck noon.

I felt, rather than heard, the explosion, then the screams; I braced myself against Lord Verloren and watched the clock with an expressionless face, wiping myself blank of any emotion. It was then that I noticed the moon was up, a full moon, hovering just above the clock.

Lord Verloren, still holding me in his arms, reached past me to point his wand at that moon. "_Verlorene,_" he hissed. His symbol, the black star, was written over the white space of moon, the purple points moving restlessly in rotation around it. I shivered.

"It would strike fear in the bravest, my Lord."

He nodded, and the look on his face was monstrously pleased as he considered his creation, and his destruction. "I agree."

* * *

The stricken faces of the Order that night were enough to make me nearly break down into tears. Lupin looked particularly woebegone. No one spoke much during the meeting, and when it was adjourned, I walked into the front room and threw myself onto the couch, wanting, more than anything, to just be alone for once.

Judging by the yelp as I landed on the couch, I wasn't about to get what I wanted.

"_Bloody hell, Granger_…"

"_God damn it, Malfoy,_" I snapped, "don't you ever get out of the way?"

I shoved away from him and sat upright, brushing my hair back from my face in a fluid, angry movement as I saw his form rise, too. I couldn't make out his features; the room was too dim. He looked slightly groggy. When his breath came across my face, I wrinkled my nose.

"Malfoy, you're drunk."

"I'm not _drunk_, I'm sleeping off a hangover," he growled; he indeed seemed to be displaying all the classic signs of one trying to get rid of a hangover.

"This early in the day?" I said sarcastically. "Can't take much, can you?"

He leapt to his feet. Hangover or not, it was a powerful movement, and anger sparkled high in his grey eyes when he looked at me. "Shut the hell up, Granger," he snarled, then spun on his heel and Disapparated with a loud _crack_.

I saw something glinting in the dim light on the couch where he'd been sitting. I hesitated only a moment, then reached for the book and opened it to the page where I'd left off.


	11. The Maze

Chapter Ten 

The Maze

_I kissed her._

_How could I?_

_How could **she**?_

Abruptly I stood up and Disapparated, appearing with a _crack _back at my apartment. I sat down on the floor, my back against the couch, and turned back a little further, to the entry I hadn't finished. Crookshanks – old now, and graying severely through his ginger-colored fur – rubbed up against me, purring. I stroked his head absentmindedly, and began reading, my eyes sweeping the page.

_But there was something there…she acted like she cared about me. Me, the pureblood who's made her life – in her own words – a living Hell. Me, the Slytherin; she comforted me when she is a Gryffindor._

_I knew it. I'm going insane._

_But I'd be crazy to say that she did it all to spite me. And falling asleep in my arms…she wouldn't have done that if she didn't mean it, I mean, she always says what she means. I don't understand it, though. And who…of all people…saw us lying there together, asleep? Severus Snape. Remus Lupin. Two worst enemies, just like Granger and I are. And they saw _us, _also opposites, sleeping together. I thought Snape would be the one to talk to me, but oh, no, he just won't look at me. It's Lupin who's flashing me concerned glances._

_Concerned. I thought he'd be angry._

_He even pulled me aside before I Disapparated. "Draco," he said, "I don't know what you're trying to do…"_

_"I wasn't trying to do _anything_," I snarled, and pulled my arm out of his grip. "It was an accident."_

_"I'm not angry with you."_

_His words stopped me cold. I stared at him rather than glared – a mistake, I know. "All I'm saying is," he continued, "if you can't get over your Slytherin pride to be with a Gryffindor, then control yourself and treat this incident like it never happened."_

_"I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered, pulling on my cloak._

_"Yes, you do," Lupin said, gently. "I know exactly what it's like, Draco. Exactly."_

_My eyes traced the scars on the werewolf's face. He looked so much older than he usually did at that moment. "If I hadn't gotten over my fear of myself, then I would never have married my wife," Lupin said quietly. "I was prepared to spend the rest of my life alone. Isolation does terrible things to people, Draco. Don't let it happen to you. Don't be so afraid of what people think of you and what you think of yourself keep you from someone that you could potentially love."_

_I couldn't even think of what to _say_. Love Hermione Granger? Excuse me? Am I a pureblood or not? Then again, my name has been erased from that tapestry…bloody Hell…_

_"Love?" I finally snapped. "A Slytherin and a Gryffindor? Are you mad?"_

_He smiled woefully. "They _were _best friends, you know."_

_"Best friends they may have been," I said shortly, "but look at how they ended up."_

_"Maybe love between the two houses is all Gryffindor and Slytherin need to patch things up again," Lupin said after a moment, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. "You may be part of some grand scheme that you don't even know about. Make your choice, Draco. Think about it."_

_And he pulled his cloak on and left._

_Infuriated, I Disapparated a couple of moments later, trying to get over my stun. How could I possibly love the best friend of a blood traitor, the boy who lived, the daughter of Muggles, the most intelligent witch of her age?_

_And why would she love me, a Slytherin, someone who's made her life a living Hell?_

I took a break for a moment, stretching my legs out in front of me. The apartment was getting dark, but I didn't want to get up, not just yet. This whole thing seemed so completely off the wall. "This makes no sense," I said aloud. Crookshanks purred in agreement.

The rambling sound of music was coming through the wall; it sounded quite desperate. "Rosemary Raven, what on Earth are you listening to _now_?" I demanded of the empty room at large, and then shook my head, settling down to continue reading.

_I kissed her._

_How could I?_

_How could **she**?_

_After arguing…I admitted I was **wrong** about something, I could curse myself for that…after arguing for five minutes all of a sudden I was kissing her, that Mudblood, that Muggle-born, best friend of the late Potty and the Weasel. Have I gone out of my mind?_

_And yet there's a corner of my mind that wants to believe that for just a second she was kissing me back…_

A sudden noise distracted me, and immediately I cast a vanishing spell on the book. Crookshanks straightened, lips pulled back in a soundless hiss. I froze, lifting my head slowly to stare at the tall, skeletal figure in the corner of my apartment. Its head was bowed, hands clasped, almost as though in prayer. The black cloak that clothed is body was ripped around the hems; a black hood was over its head.

I stumbled to my feet. It was not a dementor; even a dementor did not give off that intense feeling of absolute dread, of absolute _fear_, or of terror. There was black smoke furling from under its cloak; slowly, almost as though it sensed me looking at it, it lifted its head.

My mouth opened in a soundless scream, and I yanked my wand out of my pocket. Its face was a skull, a human skull, swirling black and purple smoke as eyes, with red pits at the centers, and a hideous, evil mouth, shaped into a permanent sneer. It reached out toward me; the black cloak was shaken back from its before hidden hands, and I saw that its hands were made of bone, too, bloodstained bone; somehow I knew, with a certain dread, that they were a child's bones; a child's bones had created the hands of this monster.

It lifted its head and looked at me, and it said one word; "_Mine._"

Its voice was a barely audible rasp; suddenly it rose up, cloak billowing, and swooped toward me. "_Stupefy!_" I shouted, even though I knew it was no good; sure enough, the creature barely twitched as the stupefying spell passed over it. I threw myself to the side; although saving myself momentarily, I had no time to rise again before the creature was once more upon me.

I stared, horrified, into its eyes, knowing that I was going to die, or worse; then, suddenly, there was a roar of anger and the creature was reeling back. Abruptly, my vision swam, and I passed out as a voice attempted to break through my ears. It did not succeed.


	12. Saviour

Chapter Eleven 

Saviour

"Lily."

I groaned and rolled onto my side, shutting my eyes again at the bright sunlight. Instinctively, I put my mental barriers up. "Lily," his voice whispered again, this time gentler. I felt a hand take mine and his thumb stroked the back of my hand. I opened my eyes to a squinted to stare, amazed, at his long, pale hand, stroking my small one.

"Lord Verloren," I muttered, my voice barely audible. "I…" There was a sharp hiss of pain as my side burned. "I…I'm one of the Order, my L-Lord…"

"Don't worry about that just now, Lily." Again, the burning pain in my side; despite it, I sat up, struggling to fully open my eyes. When I succeeded, I turned to look at Lord Verloren. With his free hand, he gently reached out and pushed me back onto the bed. "You need to rest," he said, quietly but forcefully.

"What was it?" I asked, conceding defeat for the moment.

"One of the creatures that I'm attempting to harness for our campaign. However, they are not easily tamed, much more fickle than dementors…it is called a Shrakil. That one must have gotten away from me."

I lifted my hand to my face and felt it burning. I dearly hoped that while I had been unconscious he had not attempted to break into my thoughts. His hand closed over mine on my forehead, and, feeling the warmth there, he muttered some incantation; instantly, wherever his hand touched was cold.

"Thank you," I said gratefully.

"When I felt your pain through the connection, I Disapparated, and reappeared on the scene," he continued, ignoring my thanks. "There is only one spell that can control them, and now is not the time for you to learn it. Now, however, we must return you to the Order. They will grow worried, and worried people pry much too far for my liking." He leaned down and kissed my forehead softed, murmuring as he drew away, "You will wake up in your apartment. Most likely someone will be pounding on the door. Let them break it down; you should not move."

I nodded; he passed his fingers gently over my forehead and murmured an incantation, and I was out again, waiting to wake up.

* * *

"Granger!"

I struggled to open my eyes. There was panicked yelling outside my apartment; suddenly, the door was blown in with a sickening _crash_. The person who appeared almost instantaneously rushed to kneel at my side. I was on the floor, I realized, and flat on my back. When I was able to focus, I was looking up into the face of Draco Malfoy.

"Help me up," I said quietly, but firmly; he held out a hand to me, his face paler than ever before, and I grasped it, letting him haul me upright. I staggered a bit, but with his arm to hang onto, I was alright on my feet.

"What happened?" he asked, his pale grey eyes casting round the apartment, then focusing on my face. Lifting a trembling hand, he touched the cut that ran down the length of my cheek and whispered, "_Intara._" The cut heeled instantly as his fingers travelled along it.

"One of Verloren's creatures," I muttered, "got out of hand. They're hard to control."

I lifted my eyes to meet Malfoy's. There was concern there, try as he might to hide it, and his hand was still cupping my cheek. "It was a Shrakil," I remembered suddenly.

"A Shrakil?"

I could tell, immediately, that he had experience with the creature; his face paled even further. "What is it, Draco?" I asked, unaware that I'd used his first name.

"One of them got hold of my mother, once," he muttered. "Lord Voldemort could never control them. They're terrible creatures."

I nodded. "They are. We should get to Headquarters."

His eyes focused again on mine. "We should," he murmured. "They're worried to death about you."

I nodded grimly. "Let us go, then."

"You can't Apparate," he said, "You'll splinch yourself."

"What do you propose we do, then?" I asked angrily, glaring at him.

"Side-along," he said easefully. "Grab hold tight, now…"

Next thing I knew we were standing outside Headquarters; Ron burst out of the door just as we appeared and rushed to grab me up in a hug. "Hermione," he croaked in my ear, "we've been so worried…"

"I'm fine, Ron, but I have a story to tell," I replied quietly; I gave him one last squeeze and he let me go. Swiftly, I walked past them both and into Headquarters, leaving Malfoy and Ron staring after me.

After relating the story to the Order – and telling how Verloren had been the one to save me – Lupin broke in, saying, "It's obvious that he now trusts you."

"Obviously," I echoed. "Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered coming to rescue me, would he?"

After the meeting, however, Lupin pulled me aside. "Hermione, there may well be another reason he came to rescue you," he said softly. "Judging by the way he acted after you'd come round…it's quite possible that he's starting to get emotionally attached to you."

I stared up into Lupin's lined face. "How?" I countered. "His mistress is power."

"You may be changing that," he said quietly. "Just be prepared."

I nodded, and he swept out the door.

I was then submitted to an examination conducted by Snape, who made sure that Verloren had not tampered with my memory or my mind while I had been asleep. He hadn't. It seemed that, perhaps, Lupin was right.

Just as I went to leave Headquarters, though, a voice called from the front room, "Hermione…a word?"

I recognized the voice instantly and walked into the room. Draco Malfoy was laying on the couch, staring at the wall opposite him, his face still paler than ever. Without either of us saying a word, I laid down beside him; as his arms closed around me, my eyes closed, and I drifted, peacefully, off to sleep.


	13. Developments

Chapter Twelve 

Developments

I woke up very slowly, feeling as though I was fighting my way through many clouds to get to consciousness, but in a very nice way. There was something very soft against my face, something warm against my whole body, two hands wrapped around my own; slowly, I opened my eyes to stare into the black-green material of a cloak and remembered where I was. By the sound of it, Draco was still asleep. Very slowly, I turned my head just a little to look at him, trying not to disturb him. It was then that I noticed the intense change wrought in him from the night before.

His skin wasn't so pale, but healthily flushed; he breathed deeply and evenly, and I could hear his heartbeat thundering slowly and steadily in his chest. He seemed so much more relaxed, so much more at ease, than he did in waking hours. I noticed how his platinum-blond hair had darkened just a little over the years I hadn't seen him, so that it was closer to a very light honey colour than the blinding white-blond.

Then I felt my palm going warm and had to stifle the sudden onslaught of anger at Verloren, at the Order, at the world for putting me in this position. Slowly, I uncurled his fingers from mine. After a moment's thought, I fetched the book he'd written in and hid it under the couch cushion where I'd originally found it the night before. So much had happened in the space of a week, I realized suddenly.

Lightly, I brushed his hair back from his face with my fingers, smiling slightly; tears were filling my eyes and I didn't know why. He didn't stir, but slumbered on.

"I'll be back, Draco," I whispered aloud, and then turned and strode from the room, shutting the door of Headquarters behind me. As I glanced back over my shoulder, 12 Grimmauld Place was already shrinking from sight. I concentrated hard on the image of Lord Verloren, turned on my heel, and reappeared in his study, where he was sitting behind the dark cherry wood desk, his eyes scanning _The Daily Prophet _rapidly. He stood swiftly when I appeared and swept toward me, a wide smile on his face.

"Lily! Are you well?"

"Very, my Lord," I responded, returning the smile and burying Draco in the farthest corner of my mine, the most heavily guarded place there was. If Lupin was right – if Lord Verloren was developing feelings for me – then the idea of me sleeping with another man would not be one that he would tolerate.

"Come, come, let me show you the damage we have inflicted," he said, still beaming, and I noticed how he placed his hand on the small of my back as he guided me to the chair facing his desk. "Rita Skeeter in particular is having a great deal of fun making a go at the Ministry for allowing this to happen…listen…"

He read me the article. I had to try very hard not to remember how I'd trapped little miss Rita Skeeter as a beetle after the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year. _Six years ago now, _I realized in wonder.

When he finished, I asked politely, "What is the next step, my Lord?"

He was in an extremely good mood today. "Tell me, Lily," he said, his scheming face settling on his features; I resisted levitating a light bulb over his head and letting it flicker out. "How do you fear about recruiting the werewolves?"

I contemplated this very carefully. "Most of them had sided with Voldemort, at one time, my Lord," I said slowly. "But during the Second War a good deal of them turned against him, and the most loyal, Fenrir Greyback, is dead…I don't know how trustworthy, how reliable, they'd be…what purpose would they serve?"

He shrugged. "They are excellent for threatening those who choose not to give us what they want…Lord Voldemort discovered that…we don't need an army. Only a few." He studied my face closely. "Our real weapon could be the Shrakil, if I could only make a breakthrough as to how to harness them…"

"Pardon me, my Lord," I said politely, "but what exactly are the Shrakil? They aren't mentioned in very many books, and those that do mention them don't go into a whole lot of detail."

His eyes, for the first time, took on the look that I had come to associate with Voldemort; for a brief moment, they gleamed red. I resisted the urge to lean back, to run, to escape; all my danger senses were screaming to get out of the way. For the space of a second, he was no longer a charming man; he was a livid monster.

Finally, he spoke, after a long moment of contemplating me carefully.

"The Shrakil have been believed to be nonexistent. A myth, if you will. They have lived for thousands of years off of this world; they dwell only in the most shadowed, hard-to-reach places, and are not easily found or conned out of hiding. They live only for themselves. This, in particular, is what makes them so difficult to unite to a cause, or with one another. They are effectively immortal, and no matter what injuries they sustain, they can never die. This means that they are not truly alive, either. They are dangerous creatures – intelligent, but very volatile, easily enraged and easily provoked. While they have lived for thousands of years, this would not be so if they relied upon one another.

"Their most dangerous power is not the consistency of the dementors, who can suck the soul from a person; nor do they really frighten people, as the Inferi did; they do not have the brute strength of the giants, nor the threat of contamination of the werewolves. Everyone knows that one's greatest enemy is oneself. If a Shrakil wishes to utterly destroy its victim, it acts in a way that will, effectively, drive a person insane, perhaps the worst fate to befall any human.

"You saw the Shrakil in its own form; typically it takes on the form of any human it so wishes. It can bring back the dead; it can copy the living." He spoke of this thing with a low caress in his voice, as though it was his fondest treasure, his dearest friend. I tried, very hard, not to shudder; the room had gone suddenly cold. "It trails its victim in shadows, acting over time. It houses no regret, no remorse; it does not know anything of love.

"When finally it believes that the time is ripe, it will transform itself into an exact living, breathing copy of its victim. The victim, of course, will believe himself to have lost his mind; in turn, he loses his soul, but not forcefully; he loses it of his own accord; he allowed it to be lost, in allowing the Shrakil to take his sanity."

A prolonged silence followed his explanation. Cold, seeping cold, was poisoning me to my core; my shudders could barely be contained. "You needn't ever worry about the wrath of the Shrakil, Lily," he said quietly, after a long while. "Not so long as you are loyal to me."

"Yes, my Lord," I said quietly.

"You look cold, my dear." I was suddenly struggling to withhold rage at his words; after telling that horrendous story, frightening me to my core, he wondered at how I was cold, and used the pet name "my dear." I wanted to hit him, to hurt him, but I held it in, clinging to the thought that I would fight another day. "That reminds me…" he continued, and for a moment I barely recognized him; suddenly he was no longer a monster, he was a living man, a good-looking, handsome man. "I have a gift for you."

He stood and snapped his fingers; a house-elf appeared, hurrying along with what appeared to be a bundle wrapped in midnight blue paper. I bit my tongue to keep in a wave of bitter resentment, remembering my old campaign with S.P.E.W. "Thank you, Stella," he said graciously; the house-elf bowed and hurried away. "Now then, Lily," he said, turning to me; he laid the parcel in my hands; he was positively beaming again. "Open it, go on…"

Slowly, I pulled back layer after layer of paper; finally, my fingers brushed something soft, and as the paper fell away, I gave a quiet gasp, staring. The cloak laying inside was made of the finest material, and was a deep, dark, midnight blue. He lifted it from my trembling hands and held it up; I took off my old, threadbare black cloak and put my arms through this fine one. After his hands had settled it across my shoulders, I still felt them there. Slowly, he squeezed my shoulder, and I turned to look up into his dark eyes.

"My Lord," I said softly, "I don't know what to say…"

He murmured in my ear, "My name is Shane. Shane Verloren."

Then, very suddenly, he was kissing me, deeply, thoroughly, and I didn't pull away, shocked to the extent that I could only drape my arms around his shoulders and pull him ever closer instead of pushing him away.


	14. The Wave

Chapter Thirteen 

The Wave

I stumbled back to 12 Grimmauld Place that night, my thoughts strangely blank. After all that had happened, this was still too much of a shock to comprehend, too shocking to even send my mind into overdrive. I pushed through the door and stood stock-still for a moment as it closed behind me. Suddenly, the last thing I wanted to do was report this all to the entirety of the Order.

It was then that Ron walked down the stairs, looking serious. "Hermione, can we talk a minute?"

"Sure," I said, not even wondering about what he was going to say. In retrospect, I should have seen it coming, really. He'd been quiet for so long, taking such a small role since I'd been thrown back into the Wizarding world. I should have known that Ron couldn't possibly change that much.

When we were in the quiet front room, lit by only a single lamp, he turned around to face me. "Why were you in here with Malfoy last night?" he asked, his voice forcedly calm.

That was, of course, when it hit me, with the force of a wave whose undertow nearly claimed me to the forbidding waters of an icy ocean. "And the night before," he continued, "you were upstairs with him, weren't you? And the night before…"

"Oh, Ron," I said weakly, leaning against the couch for support. "Must we really discuss this now? I have something really important for the Order…"

"The Order can wait," he said forcefully. "I want to know what's going on."

I looked at Ron's face – forcing down emotion, trying to swallow his rage – and bowed my head, unable to answer him; something was suddenly constricting his throat. "Ron, I don't know," I heard myself say. "I don't know, alright?"

"Hermione, he's a Slytherin," he said angrily. "The guy who called you a Mudblood in second year, remember? The guy who broke Harry's nose? The guy who tried to kill Dumbledore?"

Then it all became too much. The wave was overpowering me, shoving me down, and I couldn't breathe. Instead I cried; my sobs must have frightened Ron because soon he was holding me in his arms, apologizing profusely, trying to understand what was wrong with me.

The problem, of course, was that even I didn't know.

I had no idea what was going on between Draco and I; there was no way I could untangle the knot of confusion around Shane Verloren and I; between Ron and I was the only stable relationship, and with that suddenly being threatened – with my one remaining best friend suddenly unable to help me – I felt so alone, lost among the waters of the sea with nothing, nothing at all, to drink.

"Hermione," I heard him whisper, and it struck me then how much he'd changed; before he would have just stormed out, and I never would have cried. "Can't you tell me?"

"Look at this mess, Ronald!" I cried. "Look at how much we've all changed! Nothing's been the same since Harry died, nothing, nothing…everything's gone up in smoke…and he…Verloren…" I gulped down more tears, trying, and not succeeding, to fight the wave of agony that was slowly drenching me to my core.

"What did he do to you?" Ron asked, his voice forcedly calm.

"He…" I gulped again. "Ron, I don't even know how to explain it…Ron, I think he's in love with me…"

He stared down at me, the shock on his face so thorough that I almost wanted to laugh. _Almost,_ that is. "He…what?" he said blankly. "The Voldemort of the Third War? In love with you?"

"I was right, then, Hermione?" a weary but kind voice said from the doorway; I turned, wiping away my tears, to look at the shabby form of Remus Lupin.

"If this is enough proof," I said, taking out the cloak Verloren had given me and handing it to Lupin. He ran it through his hands. "That, and…what he did."

Lupin looked at me sharply, but didn't comment. I had a feeling that he knew. He was like that, with an omniscient, weary air always about him, as though he carried the weight of the world on his beaten shoulders.

The meeting that followed was a blur. Snape pried apart the memory of Shane Verloren and I, and confirmed to the rest of the group that he did, indeed, seem to have grown attached to me; I noticed how pale both Draco and Ron were looking at that announcement, and how they seemed to be also avoiding my eyes and each other's. Tonks looked distressed, and so did Mrs. Weasley; I knew exactly what was going through the latter's head. _She's too young…this is too much for her to handle…_

As it happened, I quite agreed with that, although I never would have admitted it. I didn't want to deal with this anymore. Unfortunately, I'd gotten aboard a one-way ride. It looked as though I was stuck with this for the long haul.

For a long moment after the meeting was adjourned, everyone just sat there. I couldn't have said that I blamed them. I was still in shock, too. Finally, though, slowly and one by one, the members began to trickle out, silent and worried, and drawn-looking. Lupin and Tonks stayed, as did Ron, Draco, and I. I couldn't have moved if I wanted to. Distractedly almost, Tonks began making a pot of tea, and slipped into her old habits; I heard a crash and Lupin's mutter of "_Reparo_," and then all was silent.

When I looked up, Lupin's arms were wrapped around Tonks, and she was crying silently, tears running down her face even though her eyes were squeezed shut, Lupin leaning back against the counter, Tonks supported merely by him. She buried her face in his chest and kept crying, and he tucked her head under his chin, rubbing her back and whispering things every now and then, saying, "It'll all turn out…" "It will be fine, Nymphadora…"

Remus Lupin was the only one allowed to call Tonks "Nymphadora"; other people would be at the receiving end of one of her Auror-powerful hexes if they called her by her first name. Lupin, however…Lupin got away with it. He always had, from day one. It seemed to be a ridiculous definition for true love, but at the moment, the ridiculous seemed almost ordinary, and it was blatantly apparent to me that this was true love, right in front of our faces.

He was over a decade her senior, a quiet, withdrawn, weary man, a poor werewolf who had nothing to offer to her but his love; she was a young, vibrant witch, a clumsy Auror, loud and bright and cheerful, feeling too much than was good for her. But through all their faults, through all their differences, they were perfect for one another. He was the only one who she would allow to call her Nymphadora; she was the only one who could charm him with utter klutziness.

It was an odd time to finally realize the definition of true love, when I was being washed out to sea by that wave. Then again, it may have been the perfect time; it was my buoy of life, my connection to the shore, when I had thought myself all but lost.


	15. Sin

Chapter Fourteen 

Sin

"I don't want to hurt him," I said softly, turning the cup in my hands as the soft, fragrant smells of tea wisped up to lick my face. "If he can love…"

"It's a weakness on his part," Malfoy cut across me angrily. "So exploit it."

"Malfoy," murmured Tonks warningly.

I looked carefully into Malfoy's grey eyes, trying to peel apart the layers of anger there and find something else. There it was, right where I expected it: fear. His eyes flicked from mine for a moment, then back to them, and he held my gaze, his worry suddenly showing through painfully bright. _Draco Malfoy…worried?_

"It's a strength, in my opinion," I said quietly. "That means that he won't underestimate it like Voldemort did."

"You must do what you think is right," Lupin interjected softly. "This part has naught to do with the Order. You must decide. Can he be saved?"

I turned from Draco to meet Lupin's gaze – so warm, so weary, so tired. His arm was around Tonks, who was leaning against his shoulder, her eyes closed, obviously enjoying Remus's embrace. My heart panged suddenly, painfully. What must it feel like to be loved that much? It would mean never being alone, I realized. That would be the best emotion…

Suddenly my throat felt very constricted. I wanted to believe that Shane Verloren could be saved. I wanted to believe that he could be turned again. If he could love me, then couldn't he change?

I shook my head. "I'm not sure. He may."

I heard Draco stifle a swear. Lupin nodded. "Whatever you do, think carefully, Hermione," Tonks said in the worried silence that followed, her eyes still closed. Then she stretched and sat up. "Come on, Remus, enough excitement for your old bones tonight."

He made a face at her. "A _Marauder's_ old bones, I'll have you know," he said to her, and she smiled indulgently at him.

"Yes, Moony, a _Marauder_," she sighed, and slipped her arm through his. "Let's go home."

"I'm off, too," Ron said, standing. He leaned down behind me and hugged me, hard, then let me go. "Take care of yourself, Hermione."

I nodded, and he followed Tonks and Lupin out. I bowed my head, trying so hard not to think, but it was inevitable. I didn't even realize that Draco Malfoy was still sitting there, watching me cry.

* * *

-draco's point of view-

I stared at her as her head bowed, her hair tumbling forward onto the table. Then I heard a sniff, and a quickly choked sob, and watched, shocked as a raindrop hit the table, and her hands came up to cover her face. She was crying. Hermione Granger, that proud Mudblood, was crying. My heart, quite suddenly, ached for her; I remember the night she spent in my arms, how small she'd seemed, and the day that I'd kissed her. Then, suddenly, I knew what I wanted to do. Quietly, I pushed back my chair and took out my wand. She didn't stir. I uttered a silent incantation, and the door closed. Listening to my heart thundering, I put my wand down, and I waited.

* * *

-hermione's point of view-

I heard the door click shut, but I didn't look up. Well, then, Malfoy had left me alone. That was considerate of him. I felt my elbows hit the table and my soft cries became less restrained. "What am I supposed to do?" I whispered aloud, through my tears, through my pain.

Then, suddenly, I felt my chair being moved back, and someone pulled me to my feet, gently, carefully. I kept my head bowed, looking away, unable to stifle my cries. A familiar voice stumbled over the name that was so very unfamiliar to it.

"Hermione."

I looked up, glaring into Draco Malfoy's grey eyes. "Let me go," I said fiercely, trying to tug out of his grip. He looked uncertain, but determined. I yanked my right hand out of his grip and pulled out my wand, training it on him, but he pulled it from me forcefully and laid it on the table.

"No," he said quietly, looking back into my eyes. I realized how close we were, and that made me want to cry even harder; his hand rose to my face and pushed my hair back, and I was shocked at how gentle he was. "I'm not going to let you go."

We glared into one another's eyes, each as stubborn as the other, but I knew I was weakening, knew that I couldn't keep this up, this haughty indifference, for much longer. "Go away," I said, my voice low and strained. "Leave me alone."

"No," he said, and his grip on my arms tightened. "I won't."

His hand slid down to mine, and he squeezed it reassuringly before letting both of his hands wrap around my waist and pull me close to him, so close that I had no choice but to turn my head and let my cheek rest against his chest. Damn him, he was strong. A sniff escaped me, and I nearly swore, angrily shoving away my tears, but his hand reached up and ran through my hair, and he murmured, "Just cry, Hermione."

Suddenly, nothing else mattered. A storm raged over me, and a cry of grief escaped my lips, and then everything came rushing out – all of my pain found a place in my tears, and I sobbed out my grief as Draco pulled me closer, his hand cradling my head against his chest, his arm holding me tight against him, battling out the storm with him. I felt myself going under the waves and didn't even both fighting; I let my grief consume me completely, crying desperately into a night where no one could hear, except for the man holding me tight, the man who had, somehow, made things right.

"It's all going to turn out, Hermione," he whispered into my hair. "You'll see."

"Why are you doing this?" I choked out through my tears. "You _hate _me. I'm just a Mudblood to you. We're different, Draco."

He held me a bit tighter. "No," he said softly. "You're human. Just like me."

We stood there for what could have been eternity as he nursed my sobs to soft tears, and then to shaking, and then to stillness; the storm, suddenly, was over, and all I knew anymore was the comfort of his arms, holding me against him, as the room grew dark and fell still around us. My breath didn't come ragged anymore, but still, he didn't let me go. Somewhere deep in my heart, I hoped that he never would.


	16. Snowy Night

Chapter Fifteen 

Snowy Night

I now hated being in Lord Verloren's presence. The way he smiled at me made my skin crawl and made my guilty conscience throb painfully hard. Weeks passed, and I was only able to tell the difference between them by the steady swelling of Tonks's stomach, and the increasingly worried look on Lupin's face whenever he looked at her. Tonks complained that she looked like a house, but anyone could see that Lupin couldn't have cared less. I nearly scowled, once, looking at the two of them, so worried and exhausted but so _happy_. When I took a look at the mess that my life currently was, theirs looked absolutely perfect. Malfoy had been sent away on a secret mission the day after that last grim meeting of the Order, and he'd gotten to say a very swift, neutral goodbye to me before leaving. Meanwhile, Verloren was still showering me with affection, although he hadn't kissed me again, perhaps sensing that he'd crossed the line.

Early one morning, I woke up to the sound of someone knocking cautiously on my door. I rubbed my eyes and rolled over, then bolted upright when I remembered what had happened before I'd fallen asleep here; aching from my feet to my head, I buried my face in my hands, hoping that whoever it was would just go away. I'd been out late the night before – until six in the morning, to be exact – on a mission for Lord Verloren, which had turned out to be a wild goose chase. I hated it when that happened, but it seemed that it happened almost _every _time he sent me out on a mission lately; apparently, he had become _so _attached that he was fearful of losing me to some member of the Order on a real mission. _Like I really couldn't handle it myself, if I was really on his side, _I thought scathingly.

The knock came again, a bit more insistent. A voice called through the door, very softly. "Hermione?"

"_Ron?_" I mumbled, my face still in my hands. Somewhere, in the distant, awake part of my brain, surprise registered. "What the bloody hell are you doing here this early?"

His knock became a bit louder. Grumpy now, I swung my legs out of bed and managed to rise unsteadily to my feet, which ached terribly. I glanced in the closet mirror at my rumpled appearance and sighed, shrugging. It would have to do. Softly, I trod to the door, barefoot, and peered through the peephole. It was Ron, all right, glancing around curiously, and then he knocked again on the door. "Hermione?"

"I'm _coming_," I said, annoyed, and opened the door to admit my friend. The instant he saw me, he was taking in my completely unprofessional appearance, from the red flannel pyjama bottoms to my wild hair. He frowned.

"I take it my timing is amazing as always," he said wryly, smiling. I managed a smile in return, even though I knew that it didn't quite satisfy Ron.

"Excellent, Ronald. What time is it?"

He glanced at his watch, the one that he'd gotten for his sixteenth birthday. "Nine."

"Morning or night?" I asked weakly.

"Night."

"Oh, honestly," I muttered, and put a hand to my head, wincing at the headache. "Come on in, I'll make some tea, I need to get ready…"

"No, actually you don't," he said mildly, following me into my flat. "The Order's given you a couple of days off." He looked me up and down again as I closed by the door. "And judging on how you look, you need it desperately."

I sighed. "And did they collaborate with Lord Verloren on that?" I set the water on to boil and leaned back against the counter, folding my arms across my chest and frowning at Ron.

"To tell you the truth, I have no idea," he admitted. "They just told me to come tell you that you have until Monday to rest."

"I'd like to see how well that goes, with Verloren sending me on wild goose chases that last until six in the morning," I said grumpily, turning to watch the teakettle. "Sometimes the Order is about as clever as a gnome."

Ron snorted. "I'm just the messenger."

I sighed. "Yes, I know." I was silent for a moment, regarding the teakettle with the air of someone trying to blow it up with heat vision. "You know, it's awful funny; if he loves me so damn much, why does he send me out on these stupid missions that keep me up all night?"

Ron didn't reply. I sighed and shrugged, just as the teakettle began to shriek; I poured the hot water over a tea bag in the first mug and promptly poured some of the water onto my hands. "Ow!" I said, hissing sharply, setting down the kettle and rubbing my hand fiercely. I reached for my wand to heal the burn, but I realized it was on my bedside table; or maybe, on second thought, it was in the front room. I growled under my breath in frustration and turned around, to find Ron blocking my path. He smiled reassuringly at me and then took my burned hand in his, murmuring an incantation, and the skin was healed.

"Thank you," I said gratefully; he ran his thumb once over the place where the burn had been and then quickly dropped my hand, glancing away. "Where'd you learn that?"

"I have learned _some _things, you know," he said indignantly. Then a slow smile spread across his face as I handed his tea to him. "Though you have a valid point, remember how you always used to help me and Harry with our homework?"

I smiled, too; the mention of Harry wasn't as painful as it had been in the past. "_Help _you? You mean, do it _for _you?"

He looked righteously offended as we moved into the living room. "Well, then, it was your fault that we couldn't do anything, you should have just told us to shove off and do it on our own…"

I laughed; the smile felt strangely out of place on my features, the muscles stretching in a way that they hadn't in a long while. "I did a couple of times, didn't I?"

"Oh, yes," he said, and grimaced. "And we nearly failed everything. Except for Harry and Defence Against the Dark Arts. And me, I just nearly failed everything."

I sipped some of my tea, relishing the steamy tendrils that crept up and licked my face. "Served you right." I spotted my wand lying on the table next to me and picked it up as I set down my mug, twirling it between my fingers idly. Then I pointed at the fireplace and muttered, "_Incendio_," and a fire sprang up, crackling behind the grates and eating up the logs greedily. We fell silent a moment, staring into the flames.

"So." His voice made an attempt at casualness and failed miserably. "How's things between you and Malfoy?"

"I haven't seen him in a while," I said softly, stirring my tea as I added sugar. "He's on that secret mission for the Order, so…we just haven't seen much of each other," I finished lamely.

It was a mark of how much Ron was determined not to lose control that his face didn't turn red, although his ears were turning slightly pink. Then he said, his tone lightening somewhat, "Remember when Moody turned him into a ferret?"

Even I had to laugh at the memory, and I realized how very little I'd seen of Ron since I'd come back. "Ron," I said softly, suddenly. "Why did I leave?"

He was silent, too; I turned to look at him and he brushed a strand of his vibrant red hair from his face. "It was years ago, Hermione," he said, a frown creasing his brow. "I'm not sure anymore."

"We had a really terrible row, didn't we? The week before? Like the ones we used to have at school?"

Reluctantly, he nodded. I stood suddenly, prowling to the window seat and sitting down there, looking out to where the snow was drifting down in lazy flakes. It was nearly Christmas, I realized. I remembered the Christmases at Hogwarts, the impeccable decorations in the castle, the mistletoe, the suits of armour, and the chill of the corridors…

Then there had been the Christmas, not as long ago, when things had gone so horribly wrong.

"We hadn't had any like that for a long while," I said softly, pressing the side of my head to the cool glass.

_"Damn it, Hermione! What do you want me to do? My best friend's dead, there's no war left to fight, and yet everything is just as bad as it used to be! Look at us, look at what's happening to us! We're all falling apart!"_

_"Ron, they're doing the best they can!"_

_"They can't fix anything until they admit it's broken! And he left this world just as badly as it was when it was here. Now we're just scurrying around in utter chaos, waiting for something to happen, waiting for somebody to come save us, but there's no one anymore, is there? There was only Harry and Dumbledore, and Dumbledore's long dead and Harry just followed him! Don't you get it, Hermione? The only way we can survive is if we stay together!"_

_"We can't, Ron," I cried back, feeling the tears welling in my eyes. "We just can't. What if there's another war, what if something else goes wrong? If we're as dependent on each other as we are now, we'd never survive!"_

_"Fine, then!" he roared. "Leave! See if I care!"_

_The door slammed and I stood there a moment, staring after him, shocked to hear the sudden silence, and then I fell asleep on my couch, too exhausted, too hurt, to cry._

I found Ron wrapping his cloak around me and looked up into his eyes, such sudden pain running through me that I didn't know whether to cry or to lock it inside. "You're going to get cold, sitting there," he said quietly; though it was difficult, the window seat was just wide enough to fit both of us on it. He wrapped his arms around me, extra protection against the cold seeping through the window, and we stared out on the falling snow together.

He'd apologized the next day, of course, and my resolve had held firm to leave, to get out. I couldn't have told him the truth; that being with him so much was killing me because we were only friends. I had loved him so much. Anyone could have seen it, and I'm sure dozens of people saw at Hogwarts, when we were younger; anyone could have seen how hurt I was in third year, when he wasn't speaking to me because my cat had supposedly killed his rat; anyone could have seen how angry, how upset I was in sixth year when he and Lavender Brown were thrashing like a pair of snakes all over the place, and in front of me. It had been so obvious, but, to my knowledge, he had never seen it.

"Hermione," his voice suddenly murmured in my ear; it was so weak, so much weaker than Ron's voice had ever been. "What's going to happen now?"

I shook my head, sniffed, and brushed away a single tear, because things had just gotten so much more complicated. I just leaned my head against his chest and said, softly, "I don't know, Ron. I was never a Seer."

Outside, the snow fell and gathered around the window, reflecting our pale, drawn faces; I stared in at the mirror of myself and wondered, with a lump in my throat, if I really knew who I was anymore.


	17. Traitor

Chapter Sixteen 

Traitor

I woke up the next morning in utter warmth, buried under a stack of blankets that kept out the chill of the winter morning quite well. Yawning, I wondered why I'd woken up; then I realized that my palm was nearly burning. I yelped and leapt out of bed, dressing at lightning speed and then Disapparating immediately, reappearing in Lord Verloren's study. He was standing with his back to me, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window, his hand pressed against the glass, his cloak falling about him in an eerily still way. He seemed oddly frozen, crisp and sharp against the darkness of the impending snowstorm outside. "Join me, won't you, Hermione?" he said softly, his voice deadly.

I'd been in the act of walking forward, forever the faithful servant, but when I heard my name – my _real _name, not the pseudonym I'd been going by in his presence – I stumbled, just a little. Still, I strode to his side, chin up, hand curled around the wand in my cloak pocket. His face was of stone. "I have discovered that someone is doublecrossing us," he said, never looking at me, staring always out at the tiny flakes of snow that were beginning to fall. "Any idea whom?"

I mustered the strength to look politely curious. "No idea, my Lord," I said, striving to keep my voice from shaking, striving to keep my entire body still, although I knew that, eventually, my nerves had to fail. He wasn't forcing entry with Occlumency, but I figured that that time was relatively near.

We stood in silence for a long moment. When I glanced at him again, his face was twisted with pain and anger. "Tell me you didn't want to," he whispered, his voice hoarse, begging. "Tell me that they forced you, blackmailed you, put you under the Imperius Curse, that you did not do it of your own free will."

"Verloren, my name is Hermione Granger," I said quietly. "I have been the best friend of Harry Potter since I was eleven years old; the same can be said of Ronald Weasley. Surely you aren't foolish enough to think that I needed to be blackmailed?"

He shook his head, then touched my hand and wrapped his own around it. "I love you," he whispered, and I felt him shaking. "Just tell me you love me."

He kissed me then, hard, a kiss full of raw desperation. I kissed him back softly, placing my hand on his chest, arranging his hands so that they rested on my hips. I wrapped my arms around his neck, but then, after a moment, I pulled away.

"I don't love you, Shane," I said, softly, and began to walk to the door.

His voice was raw and shook when next he spoke. "I give you twenty-four hours of a headstart," he said. I turned to look at him, feeling oddly empty of any emotion. "Evade my followers and I for a full week, and you'll walk free. But goddamn it…" His voice shook even harder. "I hope you get away."

I nodded to him. "Happy hunting, then, Lord Verloren," I said, and then turned on my heel and Disapparated.

* * *

"I have twenty-four hours," I panted, "to get as far away from here as possible and to arm myself as well as I can."

I fastened my cloak at my throat and looked around the kitchen in desperation. Ginny was hastily throwing together a cache of magical items and potions for me – unfortunately, we didn't have six months to brew up Felix Felicis, which would have been _very _useful – Lupin was bringing my wand up to top performing ability, Tonks was giving me last minute pointers in Concealment, Disguise, Stealth, and Tracking, and Ron and Draco, along with Mrs. Weasley, were just sitting, watching all the activity like it was a tennis match; though there was worry in the brows of Mrs. Weasley and her son, Draco's face was empty. I wondered, briefly, what he was thinking.

The raw desperation that had seized the room was shockingly calming, almost. There was truly something to do now: protect me as well as they could. Mad-Eye had dropped off his good invisibility cloak, and Professor McGonagall was preparing to rap the Concealment Charm over my head. "It's going to fail after a few hours," she warned. "The spell wasn't mean for long-term use."

"It's fine," I said, waving the thought away and smiling gratefully at the former Transfiguration professor. "Thanks."

"I'll be waiting at the door," she said, and walked out of the kitchen.

"What are the terms of this game again?" Ginny asked me, now throwing food into the parcel as well, shrinking it as she did so, her wand waving madly.

"I survive for a week while evading him, and I go free." I sighed and smiled weakly. "Less time than Regulus Black of Karkaroff had to do, though, eh?"

"You'll be fine," Lupin said reassuringly. "The best thing to do would be to stay in London. You know the territory; granted, they do as well, but it's crowded, and wiping memories is always so inconvenient. The main thing is not to be seen. As long as no one knows your whereabouts, no word of where you are can get back to him."

I nodded. Ginny gave me the shrunken bag of supplies, small enough to tuck into my pocket; I hugged her goodbye. Tonks and Lupin embraced me next. I put my hand on Tonks's stomach and felt the kick of the baby within. I smiled. "Take good care of her," I told the Metamorphmagus, and she smiled. Then Mrs. Weasley hugged me, crying freely now. Ron stood and wrapped me tight in his arms. We stood there for a long moment as I gripped a handful of his vibrant red hair in my hand and rested my forehead against his shoulder, gathering strength from him for one last time.

"If you don't come back," he whispered in my ear, "I want you to know…"

"I know, Ron," I said softly. "I know." I disentangled myself from him, meeting his eyes one last time, and then I turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Then a hand was catching my arm and pulling me back; as the kitchen door swung shut, I was brought about to face Draco Malfoy, and he pulled me against him and kissed me, fiercely, as though he'd never let me go. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back, guiding his hands to my hips, raising my hand to push back his hair…

Then we were apart again. "I love you," he told me, desperately.

I smiled, though it wasn't for the reason that he thought it was. "Wait for me?" I asked, embraced him one last time, and then allowed McGonagall to conceal me.

Something invisible opened the door, and I was gone.

* * *

Forty-eight hours later I was shivering under the invisibility cloak in a dark alley, waiting for dawn to come again and for the horrors and nightmares of the London night to go away. The thing I feared most was a Shrakil coming along, because I knew that they, like demetors, saw straight through invisibility cloaks. I was tempted to perform the Concealing Charm again, but I feared that any magic on my part would draw attention to my location, so I decided not to risk it.

Sitting there, on the cold, hard ground, I thought back to days before when Draco Malfoy had kissed me with such a hard passion…and I smiled, thinking of that, because at least he could love; yes, at least he could love.


	18. Hide and Seek

Chapter Seventeen 

Hide and Seek

I panted, crouching in another dark alley, trying to be quiet and not succeeding. There were running footsteps just past the entrance, shouting, so much shouting, and then, suddenly, quiet. Had the search passed?

Ever since I'd fallen asleep in that alley the night before, things had been nothing but chaos. The search was drawing near to the end of the third day, but I was constantly on the run now, because somehow I had been sighted in London, though I had absolutely no idea how they'd figured that out. I hoped, fearfully, that the Order was not in danger, that Verloren hadn't, somehow, traced me back to 12 Grimmauld Place. I crouched again as the footsteps returned, this time peering over the dank porch step of some closed shop to see the dark-scarlet clad figures running past the alley, wands out, every one of them, shouting at passer-by to keep out of the way. I shivered and drew my cloak tighter around me. How long could I survive this game? Would Verloren's resolve hold if I was captured and brought before him?

Silence came again, this time heavier and more ominous than the silence before. I knelt now, bracing my back against the steps, and waited, closing my eyes for a few moments, trying to gather strength, trying to think of some way to get to my next safe haven, a haven that would only be safe for, at the most, an hour or two…

I finally opened my eyes, heaving a soft, and yet heavy sigh, and then peered cautiously around me, tugging the invisibility cloak tighter. From kneeling I rose to a crouch, and from the crouch I got lightly to my feet, turning back toward the mouth of the alley. Then I froze, standing as still as I possibly could. Without any further thought I shrank back into the shadow of the step, trying to control my shaking without success. _Dear God, _I thought weakly, _someone help me. _

A Shrakil stood there, its dirty cloak pressing to it, showing where its ribs were, but I knew that its ribs were not its own, that a human's life had been taken to give it shape.

I wracked my brain for the spell that Verloren had told me was the only one that worked on these creatures. _Scarl…Scarlet…Scarlot…_

I drew my wand when it finally came to me, keeping it at the ready. The Shrakil's face turned toward me, and I knew it saw me when its eyes began to glow hungrily, and its skull-like face jeered even more unpleasantly. Confidently, it began to sweep forward.

I stayed still as long as I could, crouching behind the step in the shadows, hoping against hope that maybe it hadn't seen me, and staring as the monster came nearer and nearer. Now I could only see it from the waist down unless I craned my neck, and then the thigh, and then the knee…_Don't scream, don't scream…_

Finally, at the last available second, I threw off the invisibility cloak, shot out of the shadows of the steps, and screamed, "_Scarlottilare!_"

The affect was immediate and rewarding; the creature screamed, an unearthly sound that sent chills racing up and down my spine, and then, slowly, fire began to consume it. I could tell that it was trying to work its magic to ward off the spell, but to no avail; the fire was greedy, it was hungry, and it was all-powerful. Finally, with a last, shrieking, terrible cry, the creature crumpled to the ground, nothing but ash now.

I dusted myself off and threw the invisibility cloak around me once more. Out of the ashes of the Shrakil came the wavering, indistinct figures of what I were assumed all the lives ever taken to create it; they were all children under eight years old, by the looks of it. They cried out happily at being free, their voices blending to create a cacophony like that of songbirds in a rainforest, and then, one by one, they all flickered out and disappeared into thin air, becoming nothing but what they were again.

Sighing, I trekked out to the entrance of the alley, looked cautiously in both directions, and when the street appeared deserted, I darted across it, running as swiftly and silently as I could for a safe base. As I ran, my shoes lightly slapping the pavement, I thought, exhaustedly, how nice it would be to just bunker down in 12 Grimmauld Place and sleep between clean, warm sheets with tea to drink in the morning; then I shook the thoughts away, knowing that the tasks ahead would be a great deal harder if I fantasized about such luxury.

So I sighed and kept running on, the cloak trailing behind me, always invisible; when passer-by felt a gust of wind, they didn't even blink. To them, I was truly invisible. I wished I were that invisible to Verloren and his followers.

* * *

"_Crucio_!" a voice behind me cried, and I ducked, throwing myself forward with another burst of speed; the curse missed, searing into a nearby tree instead. I'd been evading this particular scarlet-clad minion for the past half an hour, darting confusedly through the woods of some park that I'd stumbled upon. Most unfortunately, the snow hadn't penetrated to the layers below the trees yet; although it would have left tracks, at least it would have muted my noise as I ran, while the dead creepers and leaves underfoot gave off a threatening death rattle wherever and now matter how carefully I stepped.

I considered scrambling up a tree, and decided that it would be no use; instead I rushed on, out of breath, panting hard, the enemy able to follow even though I was invisible because of the incredible rustling I made whenever I moved. My wand was clenched in my hand, but I had yet to use it except to block a spell or two. I couldn't risk stopping to turn and duel; they could overwhelm me easily. Even now, I sensed that they were forming a tighter and tighter circle, hoping to trap me in the middle. The helpful thing, really, would have been to fly out.

I struggled to yank out the pack of miniatures that Ginny had thrown together for me. Panting and still running, I dug through it, trying not to lose anything, hoping that she had thought to put in a broom…

There it was, perfect, waiting for me. I put on a burst of speed as the voice shrieked, "_Avada_ –" and another shouted, "_No!_ She must be brought alive!" and when I felt I had gained enough of a lead, I stopped, breathlessly croaked out the Engorgement Charm, and mounted the broom. Quickly, hoping that they wouldn't see the rider less broom take off, I pushed from the ground, shooting up through a narrow gap in the trees.

For the moment, I was safe, but I knew that I would be in desperate need of a place to land soon, for Verloren was sure to have some way to attack by air.

* * *

By the end of the fifth day, I had had absolutely _enough_.

Leaning against a light post and waiting for my breathing and my heart beat to slow and regulate again, I wished, bitterly, that I'd never agreed to spy for the Order. _Tactless, Hermione, tactless,_ my mind scolded me, _if you didn't want to get involved, why did you agree in the first place?…_

_Trying to help._ I snorted to myself. _Fat lot of good it did me, too._

Footsteps were approaching again. Balking, I drew my wand and waited, gathering my strength to fight one more time.


	19. One More Time

_Based around "Wild West Show" by Big and Rich – look up the lyrics if you don't get it, and search for the word 'forgiveness'. _

Chapter Eighteen

One More Time

Day seven had finally dawned.

I was sweaty, tired, beaten and bruised and _dirty_, and all I wanted was a nice, long bath and a cup of tea and a warm fire to curl up beside. Instead, I was shivering on a park bench in the middle of December with soft snowflakes falling around me and a bitter chill descending in the air, making me feel even dirtier than I already was and making my nose run from the cold. Huddling under the invisibility cloak, I wished, miserably, that it would just end. Struggling to my feet, I thought wretchedly, _One more day. Just one more._ With my wand, I disconsolately dried out my now extremely tattered robes. _One more day, _I thought again, trying not to turn my mind to the tiny amount of sleep I'd gotten last night, or the way my joints creaked when I moved. I thought, tiredly, of the warm fire crackling at 12 Grimmauld Place right now, Tonks and Lupin curled up by the fire, maybe Ginny and Ron playing chess, and Mad-Eye growling about "Constant diligence…" while Draco faded into the background, a better, lighter presence than he'd been before. I smiled at the thought. Perfection came in no other form for me. Enjoying the tiny moments with the people I loved was perfection.

I looked around myself at the bare trees and the gloomy grey sky, and suddenly, there were footsteps.

I straightened up, holding my wand at the ready, my eyes glaring and gleaming in a hard way. I was surprised, though, at the figure striding toward me. It was Shane Verloren, looking greyed and exhausted. I'd never noticed the wrinkles under his eyes or at the edges of his mouth, but now, with dark circles under his eyes, his dark hair limp and unkempt, his eyes blazing with defiance that he was _about to lose_ – I smirked at this – he didn't look so impressive. His pale skin didn't glow with health; it seemed waxy, ashen, and his eyes were bloodshot. Briefly, I saw them gleam red, and I tensed. Had I destroyed his chance at goodness when I told him that I did not love him? Was rejection enough to push a man over the brink into hell? I gripped my wand a little tighter, hoping that he would pass, hoping that I would not have to face him.

He was walking toward me, though, and I knew that he must have heard me, or knew I was here. I noticed that, as of yet, he had not taken out his wand. Now his eyes were staring directly into mine, and I could not deny that he had, most definitely, seen me. I stared back into his eyes, taking in the deepness of them, and then I sighed, tucked my wand into my pocket, and took off the invisibility cloak, letting him see me for what I was. If this was going to be a personal duel between us, so be it.

* * *

-verloren's point of view-

As she easefully swept the invisibility cloak off, I took in her tattered appearance, her tired eyes as they found mine, and thought, hatefully, angrily, that she needed to suffer even more. She wasn't on her knees begging me for mercy, and I wanted her to be. For what she'd done to me, I wanted her to die a thousand deaths and never rest in peace, I wanted her to go to her grave screaming so loudly that the whole world would forever hear her cries, but here she stood, bruised but calm, waiting for me, her wand in her pocket, almost as though she didn't even consider me a threat. I swelled at the thought, drew myself up so that I towered to my full, monstrous height, and still she didn't flinch. We were a foot apart before she spoke.

"So."

I stopped dead, anger boiling in my black heart. She could bring me down that easily and then just stand there and say, "So," as though it didn't really matter, as though she couldn't have cared less, as though I never even mattered a _little _to her? Her eyes, gleaming with a new, hardened look, found mine, and in that chocolate, hazel gaze I found the answer to my question; I mattered, but not in that way.

"Hope you're happy," she said idly, now looking over my shoulder, sounding almost as though I'd played some immature prank on her. "Must have loved me a lot to send those idiots after me for seven days. I don't think I've stopped running since I left your study." She smiled, then, without any humour at all. Hermione Granger, muggle-born, the most intelligent witch of her age, and she seemed utterly sardonic and evil then, far from the quiet woman I'd fallen in love with.

"It's your fault," I said, and I felt even angrier when I realized that my voice was shaking.

She looked at me, that sardonic smile gone, and shook her head sadly. "No, it's not," she said, very softly. "If you hadn't done all this in the first place, none of this would have happened. What made you want to be like Voldemort, eh? He was defeated in the end, wasn't he? You'll be defeated, too, brought down just like he was. There's always a Boy Who Lived, even when the person isn't necessarily a boy who survived an _Avada Kedavra_ curse at the age of one. I'm not afraid of you, Verloren. If I go to my death fighting you, at least I brought part of you down with me."

Rage coursed through me, because although I would never admit it, the bitch was right; if I killed her, I would never be able to entirely let go. I had to kill her, though. I had to.

I drew my wand.

"Oh, so _that's _how it's going to be?" she asked, not even looking mildly concerned. "You think it'll be better, if you just kill me? I know that you can do better, Shane."

I stared at her for a few seconds, almost savoring the sound of her voice saying my given name. I'd always hated it, but when she said it, it sounded almost like music. Her face had softened. "I know you can do better," she repeated, quietly, and took a step nearer. I stood my ground. I wasn't going to lose my authority here; I had made my choice.

* * *

-hermione's point of view-

"I know that you aren't all evil, like Voldemort was," I said, staring hard into his eyes. I could sense something in him shifting, something clicking into place. He knew it, too. He knew that he was better, could _be _better, than that. "I know you can be someone better than who you think you are now. You don't even really know who you are, do you? Have you ever sat back and thought that what you're doing is a great accomplishment? Because you know it's not, you've never allowed yourself to think. Shane…"

"Don't call me that," he snarled, backing up a step.

"Why'd you tell me in the first place? Because you loved me?" I barked a laugh, for a moment quite reminding myself of Sirius Black – long dead, but still so alive. "You didn't love _me_, Shane. You loved the person you thought I was – quiet, intuitive, trusting Lily. I'm not her, Shane. You know that."

Anger was filling his features again. His wand wasn't shaking anymore; it was starting to become steady. I almost cursed, but fought it down.

Softly, he breathed, "Draw your wand."

I stood my ground. "I won't kill you, Shane."

"Then you'll die a fool!" he snarled, and brandished his wand, but in an instant mine was out as well, and I was countering the curse that he'd barely had time to utter. He backed away a little farther, his face now becoming a mask of stone. I'd lost him. I thought I was so close to helping him, but now…chills ran down my spine, because his eyes were gleaming with a double ferocity, and the sheen of red returned, flickering away quite reluctantly this time and lingering longer than it should have.

"Never a fool, Verloren," I said softly. "Never a fool."

We stared at one another, hard, for a long moment, each taking in the other's diminished appearance but unfazed countenance as to what had to be. I knew that neither of us truly wanted to fight, when it came down to the core of our hearts. Verloren had somehow misplaced his heart, though, and I thought that, perhaps, it _was _partially my fault, but by no means did the blame lie mostly with me. Finally, he gave a sharp upward jerk of his chin, a characteristic that I'd come to know over the past couple of months. I nodded back and said softly, "Your move, Verloren."

Angrily, his eyes trained on mine and blazing with hatred, he slashed his wand, shouting an indecipherable curse; I countered it, thrown a bit by the weight of the slash of purple fire, but recovering easily nonetheless. Springing forward, I snapped, "_Incendio_!" setting fire to the dead leaves clattering in their toneless, mocking cacophony all around us. A high wind had sprung up, and egged the flame on; Verloren doused the flames near him hurriedly, cursing. I laughed a ruthless laugh. "Afraid of a little fire, Shane?" I said mockingly, and took his distracted moment for an opportunity, dragging a heavy branch toward him with the same spell that Ron had used in first year to take away a troll's club. He managed to fend it off only just in time, and even then he was off balance.

"_Levicorpus_!" he cried then, almost desperately, but I knew the counter spell from sixth year and managed to get on my feet again, as he finally regained his composure and started for me once more.

"_Sectum_ –"

"_Oh no you don't_!" I roared, fending off the curse.

He let out a high-pitched whistle that made me shiver for some reason and immediately I knew why. He'd called his Shrakil army; they began to appear out of nowhere, swooping down on us, but when they reached where we were duelling, for some reason, they were stopped at a partial orb that had formed around us. I was reminded, forcibly, of what Harry had told Ron and I of his duel with Voldemort the night that Cedric Diggory died.

"It's between us, Verloren," I said, quietly. "No one else."

The cold wind blew a little harder, and as the snow thickened, lightning flashed in the clouds. I looked up at the sky during a break in the fighting, praying that the weather wouldn't get much worse. Strong as the half-orb was for holding out the Shrakil, it didn't seem to be doing much to protect us from the cold air that swirled the leaves in tornadoes around us. The battle thundered on, and finally, one of his spells punched through my counters.

I cried out as the curse brushed my arm; blood seeped from the wound, and I looked up at him, biting my lip, knowing that he'd intended every bit of excruciating pain that the curse had caused. No pity, no remorse, and no regret had flashed through his eyes. Then he was truly gone.

For a moment, all was silent; even the Shrakil had stopped their dogged attempts to reach us. Then, very quietly, he pointed his wand at me and said, "_Crucio._"

It was the worst pain that I had ever experienced; every horrible moment of my life was combined to form surely the most powerful physical and mental pain ever endured by mankind; I heard myself screaming, but all I knew was the pain, the hell-like, unbearable pain…

Abruptly, it stopped, and for a few seconds, everything was dark; I could hear myself panting and whimpering, but I couldn't get up, couldn't move. That had been far worse than any drill that Snape had ever put me through when preparing me for this moment; there was no possible was that a human being could feel so much hate that he could cause that much pain, the unendurable pain that I had somehow, miraculously, survived…

Then his voice came again, quiet. "Get up."

Panting still, I managed to tenderly get to my feet, my wand still clenched tightly in my hand. I was drenched in cold sweat. "You dared betray me."

Still that terrible quiet voice, the voice that somehow had encompassed mockery, hatred, anger, defiance, and fear all into one tone. I looked up, into Verloren's eyes, and they were no longer the handsome black that they had been when I had met him; they were permanently a dark sheen of red, and I knew that from this moment until his death, that colour would never fade. "I never served you in the first place," I said, my voice shaking.

"You know what happens to blood traitors, don't you, Granger?"

My blood, quite suddenly, ran cold; I stared into those piercing eyes and shook my head, not in answer to the question, but in response to the fear that I could still see there. I shouted the curse that I'd never wanted to use: "_Sectumsempra!_"

He didn't have the time to throw it off and it was upon him; he made no sound as his chest and arms opened, and his life rushed out onto the ground and into the soil, where trees would not grow for years to come. He lifted his head, and glared at me, and snarled, "I hate you."

Softly, my voice finally steady, I said, "You are truly lost, Verloren."

I waited. I wouldn't need to use the killing curse. He could no longer make any effort to heal the wounds; his strength, finally, was failing, and finally, finally, his body fell to the ground. Still he breathed, his breath rasping out in the bleak midwinter air, and he said nothing. When I scrambled over to him, though, kneeling over his bleeding body to look into his face, he summoned his dying strength to open his eyes, grip the front of my tattered robes, pull me down to him, and snarl in my face, "In the next life, you are mine."

Then his features blurred with death, and when the last of the leaves had passed over his face, he was no more.


	20. Blurred

Chapter Nineteen 

Blurred

It seemed that I couldn't move from where Verloren was laying, his body still, eyes finally closed forever. Distantly, I felt the tears coursing down my cheeks, and I wondered at why I was crying; as the tears washed away the blood as they fell to my hands, I wondered where he was now – in his deepest hell, or in some middle ground, waiting to be taken to the next life?

Finally, I stood and dried my bitter tears. The Shrakil had all, for some reason, disappeared when Verloren had died, sweeping away so that I was left quite alone in the park. I threw on Mad-Eye's invisibility cloak once more and walked away, my feet automatically taking me toward my own flat. As they pounded on the ground, I reflected that I did have one last battle to fight. I shook my head wearily. It would have to wait for a little while, until I'd finally had a shower and gotten clean clothes. I smiled at the thought, even though I was so sad. A shower would be unbelievably nice.

I slipped into my flat, immediately yanked off the reeking, ripped clothes that I had suffered in for the past week, and stepped into the shower, savouring in the feel of the nearly scalding water tracing patterns through all the dirt, grime, and blood on my skin. I grabbed a sponge, poured a liberal amount of soap on it, and fell to scrubbing myself clean. It was worse than going to the beach and getting sand in places you didn't even know were there. The dirt wasn't just skin-deep; it penetrated as deep as my heart, and I knew that although some of it would come away with time, it wouldn't all leave. It couldn't.

Next I grabbed a shampoo bottle and upended it, scrubbing my hair with a ferocity that surprised even me. Soon the shower was dripping in the suds from my hair, and I rinsed it, then upended the conditioner bottle, working it through my tangled hair, washing away all the elements that had been sticking to it for days now. Nothing had ever felt better than that shower.

Just as I stepped out and began to wrestle a comb through my hair, there came a knock on my door. "Come in," I called, cinching a robe around me and then continuing to drag the comb through the tangled knots.

For a moment, I looked up into the mirror, and there I saw Draco Malfoy waiting for me, smiling a little. Sighing, and knowing what was coming next, I picked up my one and only brush, walked out of the bathroom, and sat down on the couch next to him. Gently, he touched my shoulders and turned me away from him; he cut my hair, just as he'd done before, snipping away the hopeless ends with his wand, and then, carefully, he dried it with the steam emitting from his wand, which felt almost better than the shower I'd just taken.

"It's over, then?" he asked as he worked the brush through my hair.

I was silent for a second, and then I said, "Yes. It's over." I sighed heavily, and one of his hands rested on my shoulder, massaging it absentmindedly as the other untangled my hair. "Verloren himself decided to make it a personal duel between the two of us a few hours ago, and I didn't have much choice except to fight; I'd been running for over six days, and I was tired. I guess you could say I killed him, but I think he died of something else." I fell quiet for a second, then said, "He could have healed those wounds that I caused, easily."

"He died of a broken heart," Draco suggested, his hand squeezing my shoulder a little tighter.

"He fell in love with Lily," I said softly, "not with me."

I could hear his new smile in his voice when next he spoke. "Ah, eternal doom is upon the man who falls in love with Hermione Granger impersonating a loyal servant."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Look at how far we've come since first year," I said softly. "It was sworn that Slytherin and Gryffindor would remain enemies forever, but look at us. We're friends now, aren't we?"

He was silent for a while, and I thought, fearfully, that maybe he wouldn't reply. "Yes," he said, finally, then turned me to look at him. His grey eyes looked into mine, and he was still smiling. "We're friends. But are we more?"

So here it was. One more battle, one more time. I took a deep breath and, slowly, shook my head.

I saw his smile fall, saw his eyes fill with that sense of betrayal… "No, Draco," I said quickly, as he made to get up, and I pulled him back down, my hand staying on his arm to prevent any further attempts. "I am not the one for you, alright? I am not. There is someone for you out there somewhere, but I am not the one you're looking for."

He stared, hard, into my eyes, and what I saw in his made him different from Verloren: understanding. He nodded then, slowly. "I do love you, Draco," I said, very quietly. "But as a friend, nothing more."

Finally, he smiled, weakly, but with determination flaring in his eyes again, and inwardly I smiled, too, knowing that now, he would be all right. "I knew that the Weasel would always best me in the end."

I had to laugh at his insightfulness. "There was something to all that constant rowing, you know? Something worthwhile."

He nodded, and we both stood. I stepped forward and he infolded me in a strong embrace; I hugged him back, resting my forehead against his chest, the memories taking off through my mind, and I couldn't stop myself from chuckling when a particular one came across it.

"What?" he asked, his arms still enfolded around me.

"Just remembering how great you were as the amazing bouncing ferret," I laughed softly, and then looked up at him. "But I like you like this so much more. You're finally human."

He shook his head, smiling slightly, and kissed my forehead, letting me go. "Looks like we're going to have a lot to tell the Order when we get there."

"Ah, well," I said, sighing. "I'd prefer talking to running. Let me get changed, and we can leave together."

He nodded and settled on the couch to wait, looking toward the door and wondering what lay beyond it for him. According to Hermione, somewhere out there was a woman who would love him, and she was waiting. From his new perspective on life, he could hardly wait to find her.

* * *

We stepped into 12 Grimmauld Place together; Draco squeezed my shoulder and then called, "Weasel, guess what I found!" as loud as he could, waking up Sirius's mother and sending her shrieking about halfbreeds and scum and blood traitors. I couldn't help but laugh. Ron raced into the foyer to discover what was going on, and when he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he stopped there, staring.

Without waiting, without planning, without even trying, I ran toward him and threw myself into his arms, hugging him hard as his arms enfolded me in a tight embrace; I lifted my head and then, suddenly, our lips met, and for a moment, everything around us was still, and it was only us that existed as he kissed me back, his hands sliding down my back and stroking my hair, then coming up to cup my face…

When finally we broke apart, my eyes met his and we both smiled. I sensed that people had stopped short behind Ron, in awe of what was happening in front of them, but it could wait; everything could wait. For now, everything was right again. He grinned down at me and said, with no pretence, "I love you, Hermione."

I smiled up at him, tears filling my eyes, and I managed to say, "I love you too, Ron," and then he was kissing me again, deeply, gently bending my body back, and the entire world blurred with only the two of us seen in crystal-clear perspective, each of us only able to see the other, at least for the moment. As everything around me blurred except for his face, I knew that everything was going to be all right. We had each other, and that was all we needed.


	21. Epilogue: Onward

Epilogue 

Onward

Ron's arm rested easefully on my shoulders as we walked into Tonks's room, where she and Remus Lupin were both sitting, exhausted, with an adorable baby boy in Tonks's arms. Tonks looked up at me and smiled, and so did Lupin. She'd given birth just hours before, and Ron and I had only just made it to the hospital to see them both. Draco was trailing behind us, and when I glanced back at him, I could tell that he felt astonishingly out of place here.

"Oh, he's adorable," I said softly, and felt Ron squeeze my shoulder.

I smiled as Tonks gave him to me. Relieved of the burden, she screwed up her eyes and attempted to morph, but failed; Lupin immediately squeezed her arm and said warningly, "Nymphadora, if you try that again, I will have them put restraining bonds on this bed."

She opened her eyes again and looked balefully at him. "Fine…"

He smiled, leaned forward, and kissed her, and her balefulness disappeared immediately.

I looked down at the baby boy in my arms and rocked him slightly. He opened his eyes and looked up at me, one tiny thumb stuck in his mouth. He had Lupin's blue-grey eyes. "Is he a Metamorphmagus, or a werewolf?" Ron asked them jokingly. Even Lupin smiled.

"We won't know until he gets a bit older," Tonks said, taking the baby back into her arms and rocking him gently. "But I'm sure we'll manage…hold it right there, Miss Granger." Hastily, I tried to withdraw my left hand, but she'd caught hold of it and was staring at it in awe. "Remus, tell me if I'm seeing things," she said dramatically, and Lupin leaned forward. I glanced at Ron; he was blushing furiously, and Draco was smiling that new, cocky smile of his, leaning back against the wall of the room. "Can it be true?" Tonks continued, and then looked up and winked at me. "Miss Independent, actually engaged?…"

"Yes, I _am_," I said indignantly, and Ron wrapped his arm around my waist, smiling even through the furious red of his face.

"Hermione Granger Weasley," Tonks said thoughtfully. "Sounds good to me! Come here and give me a hug, both of you…"

As Ron and I leaned down to hug Tonks, the baby only protesting mildly before dropping off to sleep again, Draco said, "I'd better get going, my train leaves in an hour."

"Are you sure?" I asked him, turning to watch as he roused himself from his position against the wall.

He nodded. "I'm sure." He shook Ron's hand. "See you around, Weasel."

"Same to you, ferret," Ron said, mock-scathingly, and both men laughed.

Draco hugged me, and then whispered in my ear, "I'll be back for the wedding." He waved a goodbye to Lupin and Tonks, and then left the room, his small suitcase in his hand.

Lupin watched him go, then turned to me and said, "He's changed."

I nodded. "For the better."

We went back to admiring their son, and as Ron's hand tickled my waist, I grinned up at him. Everything, finally, had gone right.

* * *

"Ouch!" Draco snapped as, in the midst of the crowded train station, something or someone bumped into him, sending him toppling to the ground. Annoyed, he got to his feet, pulling his luggage with him.

"I'm so sorry," the girl was saying, scrambling to pick up her fallen things.

Something turned in his heart; she looked to be about his age. "It's okay," he said quickly, "let me help." He knelt down and helped her gather up her spilt luggage, and as he handed some of it back to her, their eyes met. For a moment, he just stared into the vivid green-grey of her eyes, the exact combination of smoke and jade, and felt his heart skip a beat. Her hair, long, dark brown, and very curly, fell to her mid-back, and she looked slightly harassed, in a hurry. He saw the wand poking out of her pocket and smiled slightly. "Didn't go to Hogwarts, did you?"

"I did, actually," she said, smiling back at him. "I was fourteen when Dumbledore…" She trailed off. "What train are you catching?"

"The three-fifteen to Edinburgh," he said, his heart clenching when she mentioned Dumbledore. She looked slightly surprised.

"That's the one I'm getting, too," she said, and they both got to their feet. "Shall we go find it?"

"Sure," he agreed.

As they began to walk, she said thoughtfully, "You look a little like Draco Malfoy, you know…"

He smiled, just a little. "Funny story about that, actually."

As the train left the station, the two sat down together in a compartment, talking and laughing, and, accelerating swiftly, another adventure was puffing out of sight, leaving the world behind in a blur of everything that once was, and everything that was yet to be.


	22. Author's Note

**Author's Note **

* * *

I'm going to keep this page as a running response to reviewers as to the end of my story. An overall response: yes, I know that a good deal of you are upset that it ended up being a Ron/Hermione pairing, but trust me, I didn't intend for it to turn out this way! Sometimes, when you're writing something, you intend for it to turn out a certain way, but it ends up in another. I sincerely promise that someday I will write a Draco/Hermione story, so keep your eyes peeled ;). I just felt that this one would work better as a Ron/Hermione fic.

Anyway, I know that a lot of you are now screaming for a sequel. Well, you're in luck! After I get through with my new story, _No Idea_, I'd be happy to write a sequel to this one, seeing as the cogs are already turning in my head for it. I hear the hallelujah chorus coming from all sides, lol. So anyway, this page will probably be updated weekly until the reviews stop coming in. Thank you all for reading my story, and I hope you enjoyed the ride!

**

* * *

curlygntx: Thanks for your review!**

**coolkidd: **Yes, this is the end. But on the bright side, there will be a sequel to come!

**The Black Pearl is Freedom: **Ah, I know, but I will write one someday.

**Soiel: **I looked up the Occlumens/Legilimens thing, and you are absolutely right! How could I have missed that? Oh well, I'll edit it eventually. Thanks for your review!

**avalon64: **Yes, there will be a sequel! Thanks for your review.

**Dragons Hope: **I'm glad you enjoyed it. Keep your eyes peeled for the sequel!

**natyslacks: **I'm glad you liked the story even though it turned out to be a Ron/Hermione romance. I'm glad you liked the ending, too. Thanks for your review!

**IrishEnchantress: **I have another story going right now, _No Idea_, and I hope that it will sustain everyone until I get around to writing a sequel to this one! lol. Thanks for your review.

**Love-is-Everything: **I'm glad that you liked how it ended up! Thanks for your review!

**SakuraW: **Thanks for your review and the praise, I really appreciate it.

**prettigurl7: **Well, you get your wish for the sequel part, but I'm not sure if Verloren's coming back…ah, well, thanks for your review!

**the singer: **Thanks for all three of your reviews, I'm glad you liked it!

**MusicIsLife28: **Thanks so much for the review, and I'm glad you liked it.

**Ange de l'eau: **Yeah, I know, I ticked a lot of people off with that Ron/Hermione ending, but what can I say? It felt right. Anyway, I'm glad you liked it, and the sequel will be coming soon!

**mistyqueen: **I'm glad you liked it, lol, thanks for your review!

**little mimi: **Thanks for your review, and thanks for the luck on my other stories, I'm going to need it.

**complicated123: **Aw…don't cry too much. It really, really makes me feel great to hear that someone thinks I should actually become a writer, it is at the top of my career choice…thanks for your review!

**BlackOwl892006: **Thanks for your review, as always, and the sequel is coming soon!

**CartoonOni: **Oh, well, we'll see if she's mentioned or not when the sequel roles around! Thanks for your review, it's much appreciated.

**Steelo: **Thanks for the praise and the review, I'm glad you liked the story!

**Katie: **I'm sure there's got to be some stories better than mine, but the confidence is definitely appreciated! Thanks so much for your review.


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